Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga (30 page)

He looked to the floor, began the pace
again. “Would your father failed to have saved your mother?” he
asked. “Would he have failed
134
times
?”

“I’m not my father.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

I met his stare as he came around. “I am who
I am.”

“You don’t know who you are, cadet.”

He locked his hands behind his back,
awaiting a response. I gave him a response, but not in words. I was
fully present, centering my awareness in the core of my stomach. I
could not make myself be anything but what I am. But who am I? I
showed him.
I am now.

He narrowed his eyes. The atmosphere
intensified. He sucked his breath between his teeth. Perhaps he was
considering a discussion with Mother, after all; have me train
another three months before going home. Hell, if he got his way I’d
never see home again. The guy lived for this shit. Not me. I still
had a life and a home I wanted to see. I had Chute.

He stopped in front of me. “The synopsis is
due in forty-eight hours.”

I nodded. He nodded back, just a slight tip
of his chin. A slow blink. He paced behind me and then his quiet
footsteps fell silent. The tension in the air suddenly evaporated.
I turned. Pon was gone, leaving as mysteriously as he appeared.

I pulled at the bottom of my shirt, felt my
ribs shift. “Help me with my shirt, will you, Spindle?”

“It is advisable to cool down.” He put his
hand on my forehead. “Your energy levels are near exhaustion. You
have been in this mission for over seven hours and you have not
eaten nor rested.”

“I’ll grab a snack on the way.”

“You cannot maintain this schedule, Master
Socket.”

“So far, so good.” I tugged on my shirt. “A
little help?”

Spindle pulled the shirt over my head. I
wiped my sweaty face with the shirt, threw it over my shoulder and
started for the dim archway on the wall. While Pon got around
through some mysterious network of hidden tunnels, the rest of us
still used the leapers.

“If I may ask,” Spindle said, marching with
me, “what are your plans for tonight?”

“I don’t know.” I stopped at the archway.
“You coming?”

“Home?” Spindle’s face lit up. “Out in
public?”

“I was referring to the locker room but,
sure, if you can get permission.”
He won’t.

The shower rained from the ceiling, running
over my shoulders, over the bruises and scars and cuts. Spindle
stood around the corner, still talking. He used to stand in the
shower with me but that had to stop. He wasn’t human, but
still.

“Trainer Pon wants to remind you that your
Realization Trial is only a month away.” His voice was muffled. “He
would like you to take your training more seriously.”

I stuck my head out. “I’m sorry, what’d you
just say?”

“Your Realization Trial is only a month
away.”

“No, the other part.”

“To take your training more seriously?”

I stepped out. Water puddle around my feet.
Spindle’s eyelight spun away. I was about to say something. Take my
training seriously was Pon’s little jab to remind me that I’m not
done training. He just wanted to see if I’d react to the criticism;
a lesson for the road.
Don’t react. Always respond.

I went back to the shower and rinsed my
hair. “Tell him I’ll be here in the morning.”

“Very well.”

Spindle continued with his list of
things-to-do while steam filled the shower room and water trickled
into the drain. I imagined I was in a cloud where no one could find
me. Inside the Garrison training facility, someone was always
watching. Always judging. Sometimes I just wanted to be normal.
Nothing about living inside a mountainous facility was normal. I
didn’t choose this life, it chose me. Still, I needed to get away
from it or I’d go insane. If Pon didn’t kill me first.

I called the water off. Warm air filtered
through the room. Spindle’s arm appeared from around the corner
with a towel. I wrapped it around my waist.

“May I ask what your plans are tonight?” he
asked.

“The Charleston Squall tagghet season is
opening tonight.”

“They have already established a
professional team?”

“It’s minor league.”

“And will you be meeting Master
Streeter?”

“Yep.”

“Your girlfriend, Master Chute, she will be
present, as well?”

Girlfriend.
I sat in front of my
closet and wrapped my hair back. My stomach fluttered. Spindle
asked about them every day. Wasn’t sure if he missed them or he
just sympathized. He knew how much they meant to me. It wasn’t easy
being in the present moment when she was so far away.

I pulled on my shorts and reached into the
closet. Black pants, white shirt and a tie were on a hanger.

“What’s this?”

“I assumed you would like to look nice for
your friends, so I took the liberty of having dress clothes sent
up.”

I ran my fingers down the tie, couldn’t
remember if I had ever wore one. Wouldn’t even know how to knot
one. There was no way I was going to blend into the crowd. And in
public, the number one rule was to blend in, don’t make attention.
Be invisible
.

“Thanks, Spindle,” I said. “You have great
taste, but could you have a servy bring up jeans and a black
t-shirt?”

“Certainly, Master Socket.”

I let go of the tie, noticing the scars
criss-crossing my arms. “Could you also have a long-sleeve button
down shirt sent up, too?”

“It is 85-degrees in Charleston, South
Carolina.”

“I’ll leave it unbuttoned.”

A large, spherical servy floated into the
room holding a stack of clothes in elastic arms emerging from its
otherwise generic body. Its eyelight rotated around its cue ball
form and fixed on me.

The clothes felt good.
Normal
. It had
been a long time since I felt cotton. Most of the time, it was
sweat-wicking armorcloth that resisted impact like metal. I saw
myself in the mirror and pulled my hair back then brushed the front
of my shirt and tugged the sleeves down. I was more nervous about
going home than facing a faceless flame throwing agent of
death.

“You look wonderful.” Spindle fussed with my
collar, smoothing out wrinkles and pushing stray hair off my face.
He stepped back, looked at my left side then my right. He tugged on
my shirt, wiped my sleeve—

“I’m not going to prom, Spindle.”

“Yes, well, you want to look your best.” He
stepped back for one last look, his faceplate was very bright. “You
are due for a short meeting with the Commander before you
leave.”

“Ooooh, that.” I actually thought maybe he’d
forget that, not that he ever forgot anything.

“It will not take long.” Spindle clasped his
hands together. “And before you go to South Carolina, may I remind
you of public policy?”

“Blend in, I know.”

“As a cadet, you are not allowed to use your
abilities in public.”

“Unless I have to.”

Spindle’s face appeared muddled with color.
“I do not believe that is part of the policy, Master Socket.”

“It should be.”

“Also be aware that you may contact me for
assistance at any time.”

Assistance?
Spindle was virtually
connected with my vital signs. At all times, he knew my pulse, my
blood pressure, if I was asleep or if I was taking a shit. It was a
lifeline. If the signal faded he would assume there was trouble and
come for me so there was no need to call for assistance. He knew
all this, but he still wanted me to know I could call.

He followed me to the leaper. “You are
driving?” he asked.

“I am.”

“May I remind you of the driving
policy?”

“You may not.” I stepped into the leaper and
left him in the locker room. Spindle’s voice faded quickly.

T R A I N I N G

chilled

I stopped by my mother’s office just to see
her. The thoughts of her gagging on her spurting jugular were still
vivid. Even though it was just an image composed of clayey,
cellular nanomechs, it wasn’t easy to forget. So I looked in on
her, confirmed she was alive and breathing, even looked at her
neck. I’d sleep better.

I went to the platform, a half circle that
jutted out from a cliff wall without a railing. It was high above
the tropical forest of the manmade Preserve, a private jungle
carved from the isolated mountains of the Garrison. We weren’t on
any map, nor were we accessible to the public by automobile,
helicopter or mountain climber. I knew we were nowhere near a
tropical climate, that’s why the Preserve was enclosed with an
invisible ceiling that covered the entire 5.2 square miles. From
the platform’s vantage point, I could see to the other side where
it was enclosed with a similar cliff, and in between it was all
trees. And below the trees there were trails and streams and
creatures from all over the world and, in some cases, other
planets.

An enormous tree stood out in the middle,
different from all the rest because it was barren of leaves. Its
monstrous limbs were like arthritic fingers reaching for the sky,
and on those limbs were the off-world grimmets: small bat-like
dragony creatures no bigger than a sparrow with tails as long as a
possum’s. It would be impossible to see them from the platform, but
the grimmets pulsated with color. Some were burnt orange, others
were sunshine yellow, or plum purple, or jet black. Like a living
rainbow.

Maybe I wouldn’t notice them on the tree if
I couldn’t feel them. The grimmets were playful, they would laugh
at anything. They were also powerful, and we shared a special bond.
Our energies gyrated like time and space didn’t exist. They knew
when I was sad, tired, or bored; similar to the lifeline I had with
Spindle.

That tree was where I met Pivot for the
first time. It had been over a year since I’d seen him sitting at
the base of the grimmet tree but it seemed like yesterday. Long
sandy hair, native tan, and dead eyes. He was physically blind, but
he saw better with his mind than anyone saw with eyes. Sometimes, I
wondered if he was even human. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be
here. He saved me when I first arrived at the Garrison. He showed
me a purpose to the Paladin life that, quite frankly, I wasn’t all
jazzed up about. It wasn’t anything he said, it was just the way he
felt. His presence. No words needed.

But Pivot wasn’t around anymore. He left,
and no one knew where. Sometimes I felt his presence, that sense of
security, like a warm blanket. Occasionally, I’d turn around and
catch a glimpse of something and swear it was him, but it never
materialized into anything real. Pivot was such a psychic master
that he could be right in front of you and make you believe he
wasn’t there. Suppose he was doing the same thing to me. Maybe he
was from another planet like the grimmets.

“Ah, there he is.” Commander Diggs, a
hard-faced man with short-clipped gray hair, stepped onto the
platform.

I turned at attention. Another high ranking
official walked with the Commander, along with two escorts. They
wore similar uniforms with a horizontal red stripe above the right
breast that signified their training facility. I hated all the
military bullshit, the saluting and ranking and arrogance that
sometimes came with it, but I went with the flow. To run a society
this powerful, there had to be order.

The Commander squeezed my shoulder, his
smile creasing his leathery complexion. “Cadet Socket,” he said,
gruffly, “this is Chief Commander.”

“Chief Com,” I said.

He nodded slowly, as if to say
at
ease
but not really. His hair was short and his nose flat. His
eyes were especially relaxed. His mind tingled around me, feeling
my psychic structure like a dog sniffing another dog’s ass. I
tensed, but remained open. Closing down to someone of his status
was considered an insult. But to remain fully open wasn’t good,
either.
Always be ready.

Chief Com stepped slowly forward while the
others remained still. His escorts looked more like assassins,
their eyes barely slits and their mouths equally grim. Chief Com
closed in on my personal space. My heels caught the edge of the
platform and a magnetic field pushed back.

“How are you, cadet?” His voice was
hypnotic, pleasantly reverberant.

“Doing well, Chief Com.”

“You may address me as Com.”

“Com.” I nodded, respectfully.

“Are you familiar with me?”

Com, overseer of the Paladin Nation’s most
successful training facility. More cadets graduated under his
tutelage than all the other facilities combined. If the math was
done right, he was responsible for nearly a third of the Paladins
in population today. Without Com, duplicated humans would be
crawling all over the planet like cockroaches.

He stayed close to me and applied a bit more
psychic pressure. I stiffened this time. He was testing me now,
seeing how I’d react to standing at the edge of the platform while
being prodded. He’d heard about me, now he just wanted a taste of
what I was made of. A cold chill that poured down my neck during
training started again.
Shit!

This time I saw things. Images appeared.

I saw weapons flash.

Pon’s sweaty face, bruised and bloody. His
body lying still.

A drip of sweat ran down my cheek. I
clenched my fists, fingernails digging into my palms, and beat back
the chilly sensation and the images it brought. And then it was
gone.

Com didn’t seem to notice I checked out for
a second. He stepped back, satisfied, and cupped his hands behind
his back. “Your preliminary training scores are exceptional, cadet.
I was touring your facilities and, while I haven’t had a chance to
speak with your trainer, you appear more than ready for your
Realization Trial.”