Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga (43 page)

The voices.

Heeee’s in there,
is what it said. Or
maybe Chute said it.

“What?” I answered.

Chute said something, but I couldn’t hear
through the voices. I needed to hear what that cold chill was
telling me. It was Streeter’s voice, was he speaking on the nojakk?
No, it was… from somewhere else, some time else…

CRACK-flash
.

It was a blunt object. A club.

The back of my head.

I sensed it, at the last second, and tried
to slow time. But the world spun.

My face numb.

I had faceplanted into the floor. Blood
gushed through my lips to the back of my throat. There were people
in the room, like a dozen, swimming back and forth. I couldn’t
count them all. Maybe three. I just, couldn’t… focus. I flopped
over; Streeter was in the chair, oblivious to what was going on. I
squeezed time to stop it, but couldn’t get a grip. There was little
feeling in my body.

A tanned face hovered over me. “Hello,
friend,” he said, his voice far away. “You didn’t think I could
smell a fucking Paladin?”

I tried to sit up, but the bottom of a boot
knocked me down. The back of my head exploded on the floor.

Time?

There was only a brown face in front of me.
No details. No room. Just a smudgy face. Someone spat. Something
wet splattered on my cheeks. “We don’t fear the Paladin
Nation.”

My lips were too fat, but they tried,
quaking and bubbling. Couldn’t get them to work. I couldn’t utter a
single word, couldn’t send a single lucid thought to Spindle
sitting safely in the car. Couldn’t do anything but let the dead
silence of my confusion flounder. I managed a sound, but it was
nothing.

“Call all you want.” The face receded.
“We’ve isolated your communications. No nojakk, no thoughts, no
nothing. It’s just you, now. Deep underground. You’re in our world,
friend. And you’re not going home. Not tonight.”

My lips, fat and bloated, split as I smiled.
They cut my communications.

Commotion in the room.

My communication is my lifeline. If there’s
no lifeline…

Something crashed on the wall. A body fell
over me.

Screams.

He hears my heartbeat.

Silence.

When he can’t hear it…

A silver face hovered over me.

…
he comes.

“We are leaving, Master Socket.”

T R A I N I N G

Drown

It was like a throbbing metal rod had been
rammed up my nose. Pain and pressure rhythmically spread over my
face.

The bridge of my nose, broken. My cheek,
fractured. They had to secure two of my front teeth and reattach
nerves along with bone mending. I was told that’s what happened on
the first day. I only remembered half of the second. On the third
day, I woke to the brutal reality of a broken face.

“You have been denied pain control,” they
told me. “Orders from Trainer Pon.”

Pon still hadn’t returned from Pike’s
relocation, but he was giving orders. There was no explanation with
them, but then again there didn’t need to be.
Deal with
pain.
Oh, and that’s what you get for being a fuck-up. You get
pain.
I told you that you can’t go home. Should’ve
listened.

I sat up in bed and my sinuses swelled. I
paused before my face exploded. Mother could override this order to
keep me out pain if she took it high enough, but then what? I had
to deal with it on my own, that’s what Pon was teaching me. I
started to grind my teeth, resisting Pon’s apparent wisdom but this
only sent a spike through my brain. I don’t know what I hated more:
When Pon was right or when it hurt this much.
Both.

I took a cup of water from the nightstand
without leaning over. I wasn’t sure if I had the balance to keep
myself upright if my momentum started in any one direction. My
throat was parched from breathing through my mouth. I chugged the
water in three gulps.

What a joke.

I was nearly destroyed by a goddamn void
merchant, a piece of shit that rarely came back to the skin. Face
it, if Spindle wasn’t there, they never would’ve found me. And Pon
was training me to go into the world to save it?
I can’t even
save myself
.

No matter how much I wanted to deny it, I
was still human. I still had emotions and I was still fucked up.
Maybe I was too hard on Streeter. I mean, I got every expert in the
world, maybe the universe, to help me deal with daily problems and
look at me: I’m racked up in the infirmary. Streeter was on his
own, dealing with emotions that didn’t make sense the only way he
knew how. And not just Streeter, all those burners in the parking
lot and those people dipping into a moody bowl, they just wanted to
ease the pain and emptiness of life, that’s all. What chance did
those people have if I was still an idiot with a more evolved race
of humans at my disposal?

Pain is part of life,
Pon would say.
There’s much to learn from it.

Once my head found peace with the upright
position, I touched my feet on the floor and eased my weight
forward. The pulsing pain diminished. It was getting from
horizontal to vertical that hurt.

I was in a one-bed infirmary with a single
window. The view was projected from the side of the Garrison’s
sheer-face wall that faced the wormhole that led back to South
Carolina. The sun was high and the grass shivered in the breeze. I
asked Mother for the view. I needed something that would remind me
of the way home because I was pretty sure I’d never see it
again.

“The Commander is very disappointed,” she
told me.

She had paced at the foot of my bed. I’d let
the Commander down. Let the Paladin Nation down. Worst of all, I
let her down. She trusted me.

“You went into a known
duplicate-sympathizing club
with Streeter!
” she said. “How
irresponsible!”

The graffiti. The leaper. And the bouncer at
the top of the steps was running an imbedded portal. And Patrick?
Those weren’t headlights I saw reflecting in his pupil-engorged
eyes, that was a sparkling imbed. He knew exactly who I was and
where I came from the second I arrived.

I should’ve aborted the whole thing, but no
one was going to understand. Streeter was going in there and I
wasn’t stopping him. I took a chance and failed. Streeter’s life
was not worth the life of a Paladin cadet, my superiors might
believe. Ordinary people were as common as raindrops. A Paladin was
rare. Do the math, Socket. You made the wrong choice.

“Streeter?” I had asked. “He’s okay,
right?”

Mother had stopped her pacing. “Yes.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“You are not allowed communication with
Streeter. Or Chute.”

The emptiness of her expression spoke
volumes. Pon had total control now. She once had the advantage, but
that was long gone now.
You’re too emotionally involved, Kay.
You will be allowed to check on Socket, but Pon now has complete
authority to squash him like a mosquito. Sorry about that, but it’s
his fault.

Pon’s first order: a heaping dose of pain.
Let Socket reap the harvest of his mistake and feel each nerve cry.
And forget about home. Not even pictures. All he gets is training,
starting now. Welcome home to that.

Spindle entered the room. “How are you
feeling?”

“Fantastic.”

He was back to wearing the purple overcoat
swishing around the ankles. He held my face gently with both hands.
“Let me take a look,” he said.

His eyelight cruised over my face. He
touched the back of my head and let his fingertips softly brush
over my cheeks. A few colors danced in his faceplate while he
evaluated my recovery. I could see my reflection. Purples and
blacks darkened my eyes and my nose had doubled in size. I looked
like I’d kissed a train.

“Have you heard from Chute and Streeter?” I
asked.

“Mmmm.” He continued examining. “They have
sent messages.”

“Will I see them?”

“Pon will not release them.”

“What’d they say?”

“Streeter is getting help for his gear
addiction. He thanked you a dozen times, Master Socket, and
apologized for getting you in trouble another dozen.” His eyelight
focused on my eyes. “He is truly grateful for your friendship.”

Then the facelift was worth it.

“Chute is thankful, as well,” he said. “She
cannot wait to see you.”

Maybe Pon should let her know that’ll never
happen. I doubt Spindle should’ve summarized the messages, but
maybe Pon wasn’t specific about not telling me what the message
was.

“She set a state record that night,” Spindle
said. “She scored a single game high for scores. I believe that
should make you proud. She is quite an athlete.”

Maybe Pon was right, it was better I didn’t
hear these things. It hurt worse than my face.

“Well, then.” Spindle stepped to the
doorway. “Your healing is coming along nicely, although a bit
painful, I believe.”

“The understatement of the year,” I said,
trying not to move my lips.

“Trainer Pon would like to see you in the
training room.”

“Now?”

“Time is scarce. The Realization Trial will
not be rescheduled. You have fifteen days.”

If it wasn’t apparent no one was doing me
favors yet, it was now. Train, no matter how swollen your face.

I was in the middle of the training room,
again, waiting for the teacher to appear. This time with my nerve
endings on fire.

It hurt to have my hair pulled back in a
ponytail, so I let it hang over my face. Forget awareness and the
present moment, I just want the pain to go away. Standing at
attention was not helping.

Maybe Pon would understand. I was helping
someone in need. Okay, so I fucked things up, but I’m still a
cadet. We could put the scenario back together; it would give me a
chance to analyze it.

I paced around, tried to stay one step ahead
of my thoughts but they trailed behind like cans tied to strings. I
focused on breathing, let the thoughts rise and drift, but there
were so many of them. Thoughts about Streeter and Chute, Pon and
this God-forsaken place. The weight of the mountain felt like it
was sitting squarely on my chest. I took a deep breath but the
pressure wouldn’t let up.

Pon popped out of the floor and startled me.
I went back to the center, where I should’ve been. I blew at my
hair hanging over my eyes.

He was rigid. His hands were not behind his
back but crossed over his chest. And his posture was slightly
askew, his shoulders thrown back a few degrees. I expected utter
disappointment on his face, perhaps disgust. But he was void of any
of that. He was expressionless.

He gazed at my mid-section. Pon rarely
looked anywhere but my eyes. They revealed more than any word or
movement. His gaze was unfocused, slightly hazy. Deep in
thought.

“When I was twelve,” he said, “I watched
three boys drown.”

What?

He swung his foot to the side, took three
paces, turned, and paced back.

“Perhaps they swam too far out into the
ocean or a riptide carried them, it did not matter. Their heads
were barely above the water and they were waving for help. I
imagine they were calling, but I could not hear their voices over
the surf. One second I could see them, the next they would
disappear behind a wave and then they were back.”

He stopped at the end of his pacing, bounced
the tips of his splayed fingers in front of his chest.

“I calculated how far out they were, the
weight of their bodies and the energy I would need to bring them
back. I knew I was not capable of saving them and had I gone, I
would have drowned as well. So I watched them bob in the ocean,
until they did not reappear.”

The pain receded in my focus. Something
wasn’t right.

“There was quite a commotion after their
deaths. The community was saddened and I felt disgusted with my
inaction. But as the days passed, I realized guilt was a useless
emotion. I could not save those boys. My death would not have
justified their deaths anymore than standing there. And how I felt
about it, how anyone
felt
about it, was pointless.”

“You could’ve tried.”

He stopped mid-stride. “You cannot save
everyone, cadet.”

“I’m saving the ones that want to be
saved.”

He nodded, but still looking at the floor.
He resumed his one-man parade.

“The Paladin Nation has asked that I
terminate your training. Your failure to act responsibly and
capably was reprehensible. You are not fit to be a Paladin,
regardless of your aptitude.”

“Fine.”

“You believe it is that simple, mmm? That
you can return to your former life? You would prefer that?”

I didn’t answer
.

The room shifted, formed objects and colors
and bodies. A long bar took shape to my left and booths on the
right. Men and women emerged at elevated tables around us, all
frozen in a lifeless moment. The Judgment Day club had been
resurrected to the very moment I had entered it with Streeter. Pon
stood in front of a woman and touched her face. She was the one
that touched my hair.

“This woman identified you as a Paladin
cadet and confirmed your identity. A year of training and you could
not assess this simple action? You cannot perform a simple task on
your own?” He brushed the wrinkles from her shoulders, carefully.
“You will not waste any more of my time.”

“Then be done with me.”

“Even now, you react. You let your emotions
guide you.”

“Maybe those kids wouldn’t have drowned if
you did the same.”

“If I did the same, I wouldn’t be here today
to save you.”