Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga (39 page)

I nojakked him and got his voice mail.

“Streeter, hey, it’s Socket. Listen, I’m
sorry about barging in on you yesterday and snooping around, but
you should’ve seen yourself, man. You needed an intervention in a
bad way. My only hope is that you’re getting help. Listen, I’m
sitting on your front porch, right now. I’m going to hang out for a
couple hours in case you get home. I’m probably leaving at the end
of the week and don’t know when I’ll be back.

“I want to see you before I go. I’m sorry
about the mess you’re in. I miss hanging out with you and Chute, I
wish it wasn’t like this, I really do. If I don’t see you today, I
hope you can make it to her game tonight. Just ring me when you get
there. Maybe afterwards, you and Chute and me can stop for a bite
and live some old times. You know, like we used to. Anyways, hope
to see you soon, buddy. Take care.”

I stayed on the front porch the entire two
hours, just like I said I would, occasionally checking the time,
but for the most part I watched traffic. When two hours were up,
Streeter was still downtown. Seemed like going to a tagghet game
that night was not likely. I’d have to come back to his house the
next day. This time, I’d bring Chute.

At least Granny would remember her.

That afternoon, I got more updates from the
Garrison, this time an encrypted message through a secure
connection. The message was narrated by a standard animated voice,
announcing the planned funeral for one of Pike’s victims. The other
two victims were undergoing psychic decompression, but they were
expected to make full recoveries. The Garrison would be back to
standard operation within three days. Just in time for my
return.

Pon was in transit, probably still occupied
with Pike’s secure imprisonment. I didn’t expect to hear from him
until I was back. For some reason, I wanted to hear his voice
again.
I must be losing my mind.

I was in the kitchen when the imbed planted
in my neck began to tingle, spreading around my scalp like electric
fingers. I hadn’t triggered it to activate. It blurred my vision as
it connected with my nervous system. Suddenly, someone was in the
room.

Pon faced me, hands locked behind his back.
I was seeing him, but he wasn’t really there. No one else would see
him, though. He was transporting his image directly into my
eyes.

Pon looked around, left and right, and
smirked: A guttural acknowledgement of my home.
Not a
recording.

He looked back at me. “Good morning,
cadet.”

I nodded.

“You’ll be reporting to the Garrison in
three days. I expect you to be fully prepared to continue training.
I will not accept any reduction in your physical stamina. You will
present a full synopsis and demonstrate a true understanding of
your last exercise.”

He outlined the physical exercises to be
completed before returning and also explained that a virtualmode
environment would be uploaded to my link along with a mission
statement to be completed, which also had to be analyzed. I wasn’t
sure if my mom approved, but I wasn’t going to ask. Sooner or
later, I’d be back in the training room and she wouldn’t be
around.

“Is Pike secured?” I asked.

“Do not concern yourself with such matters.”
He paced to the right, stepping over a crumpled shirt.
Is this
really a projection?
“I want you to remain focused on your
training. Other matters will unfold as needed.” He stopped, lifted
his chin with a slight nod. “Engage only in the present
moment.”

The electric fingers released my scalp and
my eyes stung as the imbed disconnected. Pon disappeared. I touched
the back of my neck. No one said the imbed could do something like
that, but then maybe Pon was the only one that knew how.

That evening, I was in the backyard doing
pull-ups on a maple tree when a car pulled into the driveway. Two
doors slammed but I couldn’t see who it was. They went inside the
house, through the front door, so I snuck in through the back. It
was Mother, all right. She was in the kitchen talking with someone
dressed in a long, black overcoat with the hood pulled up. His long
boots were cinched tight over baggy pants. He took a plate from
her. His hand was silver.

“Spindle?”

Spindle pushed the hood back and the red
eyelight spun on his smooth faceplate. “Master Socket!”

“You’re alive!”

“I am, Master Socket! I am alive!”

“But… the last time I saw you… you
were…”

“Oh, this is not my original bodyshell,
Master Socket. I have been uploaded to a new one.”

The body didn’t survive, but Spindle did.
“It’s not the body that makes the man…”

“But the heart,” he finished.

Even though Spindle was a database,
technically he didn’t
exist,
I still hated it when he broke
a body, especially when I did it to him. But he could cheat death
by downloading into another body.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I cannot discuss the exercise. The
analysis, however, is complete. Pon will discuss the results upon
your return.”

Bright colors rippled on the surface of his
faceplate.

“It’s good to see you,” I said.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Inviting you?”

“You invited me to come home,” he said. “Do
you not remember?”

“Spindle has come along for observation,”
Mother said. “He wants to experience a public event.”

The world was different than it was a year
ago. Ever since the Paladins became known, their technology was
finding its way into the public like never before. In hindsight,
Paladins were behind every major discovery for the last decade.
Most people thought Steve Jobs and Bill Gates were Paladins.
(They’re not.) These days, humanoid mechs, like Spindle, weren’t
impossible to see in public, it just meant you were sloppy rich.
But even the wealthy didn’t have humanoid mechs of Spindle’s
caliber. Spindle could pass for a man. If he had a face.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To the tagghet game with you.” His eyelight
focused on my mother, darker colors stormed his faceplate. “Have
you not told him?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said, on
her way to the bedroom.

“Are you disappointed, Master Socket?”

“Am I… no! No, I’d love for you to come. I
just… uh…”

“What is it?”

“I just was wondering why you’re dressed
like a commando.”

He pulled the hood over his face. The
eyelight dimmed until it was difficult to see the featureless
aspect of his faceplate. He showed his hand, front then back. The
silver tinge sparkled, then darkened to a healthy tan.

“It will lessen the burden of attention. We
can enjoy some privacy in the crowd.”

He was wearing pants and a shirt, boots and
coat in South Carolina. People would avoid us, all right. The cops,
however, might want to ask some questions.

“You look psycho,” I said.

“Wonderful! I am so looking forward to
experiencing a public school tagghet event in South Carolina. I
have heard so much about the fan’s fervor, and Master Chute is
quite good. Currently, she holds the national record for female
taggers in assists and single-game goals.”

She does?

“She is currently ranked in South Carolina’s
top ten taggers. It will be quite a joy to see her play tonight,
and I know her!” He tilted his head. “I would expect you to know
these details about her. She is your girlfriend, after all.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Will Master Streeter be joining us?”

“Ummm… yeah, maybe.”

He pumped his fist. “That is great news,
also!”

Any other day, Streeter would love sitting
next to a humanoid mech. In fact, he’d pull off Spindle’s hood and
show him off. Now, I don’t think he’d give a rat’s ass.

“I can prepare dinner,” Spindle said. “You
may relax, Master Kay.”

Mother grinned. “That’s all right, Spindle.
I’d enjoy doing it myself. I think Socket would like to spend some
time with you.”

Even though Spindle was anatomically
neutral, I still preferred he wear something when we sparred, so he
stripped down to his shorts. His new body was quicker and stronger.
By the time we were done wrestling, my clothes were soaked with
sweat and I was aching. It only took three days to lose my
edge.

“I like this new bodyshell.” Spindle admired
his hands. “It seems more capable.”

He started doing Tai Chi in the center of
the lawn, where we wore out the grass. His faceplate was frosty,
subtle hints of green. Perhaps the bodyshell was an upgrade, one
that knew Tai Chi. Could I best him in the desert exercise with
this one? Would he be crushed against a boulder this time?

“I had a dream after the pre-Trial
exercise,” I said.

“Oh, really?” he said, striking a pose.
“What was it?”

“You had me pinned against the rock, pushing
your hand through my shield. You were about to best me.”

“That was not a dream.”

“Yeah, well then I saw something else. I saw
this kid with his dad. I’d seen them a few days earlier when I went
home to see Chute; they were at the tagghet game. But then I
dreamed they were there, in the pre-Trial, standing right behind
you. He kept asking if I was thirsty.”

Spindle turned slowly. “That is very
interesting.”

“And then the kid’s dad turned into my
dad.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I only saw the kid
for like a second outside the tagghet game. You know what was even
crazier?
I was thirsty
. The more I thought about it, the
more I wanted a drink.”

“And then you saw your father.” Spindle
stopped the meditative dance. “Perhaps you should investigate how
you feel about this dream.”

“I would, if I knew what really happened.
You were about to beat me, the next thing I saw you smashed against
a boulder.” I pulled my shirt off and wiped my face. Spindle stood
very still. “Maybe you can fill in the blanks.”

“I cannot discuss this, Master Socket.
Trainer Pon will address the occurrence when you return.”

“Occurrence? So something happened.”

He tipped his head. He’d already said too
much. “I believe it is time to eat.”

Spindle was through the door, helping Mom
set the table.

Conversation over.

T R A I N I N G

Back in the game

I hadn’t seen the high school since it was
destroyed by the duplicates’ last stand a year ago. Some of the old
live oaks had burned and the reconstruction was expansive. The
building was wide, not tall, with green and tan colors that matched
the countryside. The walls were made of triple-paned insulated
fiberglass that could change colors and opacity, letting in more or
less sunlight depending on the season and time of the day. The
Paladins paid for it all.

I parked far up the road and avoided the
traffic. The last thing I needed was the Garrison getting a traffic
summons. Besides, Spindle would annoy me all night if I parked
illegally. I wanted him to enjoy the game.
I
wanted to enjoy
the game.

All Spindle needed was a death sickle to
complete the whole grim reaper look, but no one seemed to notice.
There were already enough high school freaks to make him look
normal. He couldn’t get enough of them.
So much culture!

“This is where you went to school?” Spindle
asked.

“That’s the place,” I said. “I like to think
of it as my
prison years.”

“You were incarcerated?”

“No, it’s just what it felt like.”

Spotlights beamed up ahead into the
low-lying cloud cover, bright enough to illuminate the dusky sky. I
avoided walking through the parking lot where we were sure to find
problems. Rednecks, burners, and every other sort of troublemaker
would be there. Lookits constantly cruised over the area and
reported fights or any other suspicious activity, bringing security
as needed, which was at every game. Years ago, it was a prime spot
to score weed, speed or meth, but those were the drug days. Now
specialized gear could induce a similar high, and no one would know
the difference.

The school stadium was on par with
Blackbaud. While the color scheme matched the school, it was two
stories tall. The outside walls were open scaffolding and spiraling
ramps circled up each corner where people walked to the top.

The crowd funneled toward the main entrance.
An arch curved over the gate, swirling with greens and tans and an
animated fox mascot clenching his fists at the crowd. A bunch of
guys ran past us, bumping into Spindle.

“My apologies,” Spindle called.

A couple of them turned around, then turned
again. They grabbed their buddies. Thankfully, the rest were too
distracted by the girls ahead of them.

“Come on,” I said. “We should get
inside.”

In front of the gates was a low, concrete
pond with fountains where little kids threw coins. A concrete
pillar rose from the center of the water with the inscription,
In Memory
. The inscription left out what it was remembering,
but everyone knew, they didn’t need the words to know all this new
stuff was in memory of
those lost in the attack,
when the
duplicates launched their first and only public attack.

The fox mascot high-fived the fans. Teachers
handed out programs and directed traffic. I didn’t bother saying
hi. None of the teachers remembered me. As we got closer to the
gates, the crowd got tighter.
Look at that
and
it’s a
humanoid
murmured from those around us, but the line kept
moving. We got to the gate without incident, but then a girl tugged
on Spindle’s hood.

“Hello.” His eyelight spun around. “How are
you?”