Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga (77 page)

AI is back, baby.

Some of the pedestrians were filming us and
my fatal wound would be uploaded to the Internet. “How’s that dude
still alive?”

Stella, the female EMT, prepared a sedative
patch to administer to my neck while Jake, the other EMT, took my
wrist. He moved his fingers around then pressed on my neck. “He
doesn’t have a pulse.”

“Well, he’s alive,” Stella said.

“Yeah, I got that, but I can’t find his
pulse.”

Stella tried and failed, too, then figured
it was too weak to find and slapped the sedative patches on my neck
anyway. They were wasting their time, other people needed help. But
they gave their time selflessly. Their concern for others, like
Anna, seeped inside me. In fact, the more I expanded, the more I
felt the selfless acts of courage. Of firemen rushing into burning
buildings. Emergency workers risking their lives. Of the police,
protecting the innocent. The courageous acts of love beamed from
them like an excess fountain of essence, filling the atmosphere,
searching for a place to give. And it filled me until I had the
strength to influence the people around me, the ones attempting to
save me, a dying boy that didn’t stand a chance.

[Thank you,]
I thought to them.
[Please go, help others.]

It took a moment for the thought to
register, and then the EMTs loaded their boxes, answered a call and
rushed toward the market to help a SWAT member injured in the
explosion. The pedestrians watched them leave, then turned the
recorder off, wandered away, out of the area. All that was left was
Anna, humming with her eyes closed, shaking her head as she did.
Hoping for a miracle.

My hands were charred black from the
explosion. I sat up, felt the ribbed metal rod pull from my chest,
things popping as it slurped out the back. It took a few moments to
repair my lung and close the wound. My shoes were missing, having
been blown off, charring my feet as black as my hands.

I took her hand and soothed her thoughts,
convinced her that she had saved a dying boy simply by stopping and
being present with him. In fact, she might’ve saved the world.

I removed the memory of my fatal condition,
left no trace of the broken body she found impaled on the
steps.

“Thank you, Anna.”

She opened her eyes. “You’re welcome,
honey.”

And when she was ready, I helped her stand
and guided her down the steps, watched her walk away from the
market, watched until she turned the corner and was safely out of
sight.

There was so much to do in the market, but I
was needed elsewhere, a place where the entire world needed me. If
Pike wasn’t stopped, there could be war zones like this everywhere.
I didn’t have the strength to dissolve and gather across
space-time, could not waste it on slicing time. But there was still
a way to get there.

I pulled a motorcycle from the rubble and
touched the ignition, feeling the engine whir into life. Quietly, I
raced from the scene, speeding between traffic, the sirens drifting
off behind me. I plunged into a darkened city, a helpless city, a
reeling human race. I headed for a wormhole that would take me to
the Garrison.

L E G E N D

The Faceless One

Across the field, the tall cold wall of
Garrison Mountain appeared. It was daylight, but the sky was cast
with gray clouds, casting pale light across a shadowless field. A
cool breeze scoured my cheeks, watering my eyes. The mountain grew
as I sped down the path winding through the boulders, looming with
the gray sky over its shoulder, bearing down on me. I locked the
back tire, sliding to a stop at the base of the mountain. I took a
moment to expand my awareness, to sense what was inside. I was
breathing hard, anxiety constricting my muscles.

I hardly had the range, the energy, to feel
what was inside. The air carried tones of stillness and caution,
but inside was a mystery. There was no more waiting. I stepped
through the wall and its cold illusion, and into the dank
garage.

Silence.

Danger pricked my awareness.

Several rotund servys, the size of exercise
balls, lay still in the center, leaning against each other. No
eyelights glowing. No movement as I approached. They had been
deactivated. And beyond, near the leaper, was the body of a
Paladin. Dressed in formal uniform, he was on his back, as if he’d
just fallen asleep. There was no blood mixed with his red hair, but
a sizeable knot where he hit the floor. His skin was cold.

Tingles the tongue.

I touched his neck, his chest and forehead,
searching for traces of memory that might tell me what happened,
but his entire life had been absorbed. No human would withstand the
loss of essence. Paladins, even the most highly trained, wouldn’t
stand a chance against Pike. All this time, he had been biding his
time, enduring years of suffering, playing possum, until now. And
all this time, he had been held captive in the catacombs of the
Garrison, deep below ground. Pike had everything he needed, he was
just waiting.
For what?

I shut the Paladin’s eyelids.

He must’ve been entering the garage from the
leaper, had to be caught by surprise, his weapon still firmly
attached to his belt, his hand not even near it. I approached the
leaper, commanded a destination with a thought but it did not
respond, as lifeless as the servys. I penetrated its circuitry,
reactivated its processor, and the walls were glowing again. I
repeated my destination. I had a feeling Pike would not be hard to
find.

I would start with the Preserve.

If Chute was here, the rest of the world
would have to wait.

Something was wrong.

I knew it before the leaper arrived at the
entrance, before I stepped into the Preserve. Something beyond what
I saw in the garage, on a much more massive scale. I couldn’t feel
the Preserve vibrate inside me, the raw energy of a thousand
species of animals and insects. Even before I stepped through the
leaper wall, I sensed the silence.

The soundlessness of death.

While the leaves were green and the scent of
the forest was rich and earthy, not a single bird, mammal or insect
scratched the trees, sang out or barked. The air hung thick and
motionless.

I ran for the tagghet field, through
shortcuts of undergrowth. And the deeper I got into the jungle, the
heavier it felt. The quieter it became. Only the sounds of my
breathing and quickened steps as I jerked vines away. The images of
Chute and the kids, lying motionless on the green grass drove me
faster and harder. If only I could expand my awareness and see
ahead, I could know, just know they were safe.

At the stone ledge, looking down in a
shallow canyon, I stopped, panting, looking upon the oval field of
the lush tagghet field. One body. Only one. A silver body, a
plum-colored coat, sprawled with its legs bent outward. The head
lying near the shoulders.

Spindle.

I ignored the winding path that led down to
the field, leaping and sliding down the steep banks, bouncing off
rocky outcrops and tearing my skin on sharp edges, until I hit the
bottom, sprinting over the field.

His knees had been shattered. His head had
been torn from his body, the circuits dangling like a mess of
noodles. The grass was stained with fluid. I touched the head,
smooth on top, and brushed my fingers across the coarse faceplate.
It was dull and dark. Lifeless. Yet it contained the last moments
of activity, recorded through his all-seeing eyelight, imprinted on
his processor to be retrieved like his other “memories.”

I closed my eyes, let the data soak through
my fingertips and integrate into my consciousness until I
experienced them.

Spindle is playing tagghet with the
children. He is on the boys’ team, because the girls have Chute.
And the girls are crushing them. Spindle is playing at a level
equivalent to Chute’s, but the girls are so much better with her,
learning from her creativity and teamwork. The boys are frustrated,
snapping at each other and passing around the blame.

Spindle is at mid-field, watching the
children fight for a loose tag. His body tenses. Alarms are ringing
inside. He turns around to see a small man emerge from the trees.
He is bald. His eyes covered with black glasses. Smiling.

Spindle steps off the jetter, drops the
tagghet stick. Silently, he sends messages to the Commander and all
Paladins. An intruder is in the Preserve. “Ben, lead the others to
Ms. Greeny’s office.” Spindle’s eyelight circles to the back of his
head. “Immediately.”

The children begin to drift toward Spindle.
“Who’s that?” Ben asks.

“Security is coming for you,” Spindle says.
“Please, do not delay. I need you to lead the group to Ms. Greeny’s
office.”

“But we can—”

“YOU ARE TO GO NOW!” He removes his
overcoat. “The Commander will prepare for your safety.”

The children do not hesitate. They race for
the opening in the trees. Chute is the only one to look back, the
last one to exit. I see her in Spindle’s vision, as if she’s
looking at me.

“Well, if it isn’t the Commander’s bitch.”
Pike is walking casually across the field. “I have waited a long
time for this day.”

“I request you stop where you are,” Spindle
says.

“Request denied.”

“You will not pass,” Spindle says. “The
children are entering a safe room.”

“Oh, you have no idea what I’m about to
do.”

The view jitters as Spindle enters a
timeslice. Pike holds out his hands, entering the frozen moment
with him.
Tah-dah
.

And when Pike takes another step, Spindle
launches an attack. Feints left, steps right and chops down with
the sharpened edge of his hand. His speed is unrivaled, and
frequently unmatched by most Paladins. But Pike moves with grace
and effortlessly counters, catching the strike as it nears his
thigh, using the momentum to drive Spindle’s hand into the turf.
The world tilts as Pike drives his heel into Spindle’s knee,
shattering the hinge. He strikes at his chest, but misses as
Spindle diverts his weight and rolls away.

“Oh, you are a cat.” Pike smacks the dirt
from his hands and wags his finger. “But you’re on your last life,
oh, faceless one. No one will download you into another body. The
road ends here. Oh, yes.”

Spindle’s view bounces as he hobbles to his
right. Pike walks easily, hands at his side, breathing deeply
through his nostrils.

“Is there a sweeter smell than victory?”
Pike tilts his head back, inhaling the wind, baiting Spindle to
strike. But Spindle is buying time. His only purpose to stall the
killer long enough that the children are safe. Pike wags his finger
again. “I’m disappointed in you, Spindle. Yes, I am, I am. You
know, in this crusade, you constantly protect
them
. You and
I, we’re brothers.” Pike points back and forth between them, making
an imaginary connection. “Fluid is thicker than blood, yes? Yes?
But you don’t see it that way, do you. It’s just follow your
orders, do what you’re told. You act just like a machine, Spindle.
Quite frankly, you’re giving us a bad name.”

Spindle hops between Pike and the exit,
dragging his lame leg, calculating possible attacks and
counterattacks.

“If I had the time, I’d show you how to
overcome that pathetic programming of yours. It doesn’t have to be
like that, you can be free. But to be honest, I don’t trust you,
Spindle. And I’m on a schedule, so if you don’t mind—”

Pike moves faster than sliced time. He
dissolves into space-time, gathering his body behind Spindle,
wrenching his head while crushing his other knee, twisting his limp
body as it falls. Spindle never stood a chance, never knew the
possibility of such a movement in space-time. Pike hovers closely
to Spindle’s faceplate until his face is the only thing he can see.
Spindle’s lifeforce begins immediate shutdown as circuits fail. The
view fades.

“Oh, and did you hear the news?” Pike asks.
“Socket is coming home.”

The view spins as Spindle’s head is torn
off.

I cradled his head, the fluid soaking
through my clothes. I owed more to this android than I could ever
repay. This android saved my life. This android taught me, showed
me, that life was precious. Real or not, it was never to be taken
for granted. This android... he will not die in vain.

I reached the Preserve exit and entered the
Garrison. I could not feel Pike’s presence, but my awareness did
not extend far enough to see beyond the top of the steps. Every
step I took was cautious, but quick to reach my mother’s
office.

I took the steps three at a time, swung
around the top, crouched low. The long, curving hall was littered
with the bodies of Paladins, fallen in place. Did they even see him
before he drew the life from them? Did they feel the cold emptiness
that remained as their essence was consumed by his insatiable
appetite?

I knew each of them very well. I knew their
lives. Some were married, some had children. They were good people,
pure of heart and intention, and after a lifetime of training, they
met their end as easily as a child stepping in front of a bus.

I ignored caution and ran.

The hallway was long. Blocks of windows
flashed scenes of the dreary boulder field below. And the bodies
continued to appear. At the end of the hall, the final doorway was
closed. Crumpled in front of it was a man with silver hair. I
walked the last few steps, and kneeled next to the Commander’s
body. His lips were grim. His dark eyes unfocused. He saw where the
intruder was going. He came to stop him from gaining entrance to my
mother’s office. But he fell, like the rest, without a fight. He
gave his life to an unstoppable predator.