Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga (8 page)

“That’s not it, no… it’s just… I just need
to clear my head. I mean, my whole life changed in a single day and
I’m still not sure I’m digging all this. I need to get lost for a
while and sort things out. You know what I mean?”

“You want to… go without me?” His face
turned dark blue. “I thought we would spend the afternoon together.
There are many interesting things to visit. Creatures you have
never seen. I was, perhaps, looking forward to showing them to
you.”

“Another time, huh? I’m sure I’ll be here a
few more weeks.”
Or months. Years. Forever.

He held out his hand and helped me up. “Of
course. If you need help, I will come.”

He said that like a Paladin angel. If things
were just that easy in real life.
Is this real life?

“I suggest you strike out on the path to our
right. It will take you to an artificial sinkhole and a
breathtaking water feature.”

Spindle stood at the field’s edge and
watched me walk across the turf. I waved before entering the dense
jungle. He waved back. Now if I could just see the clouds.

D I S C O V E R Y

I was lost. Big time.

I could blame Mom for never putting me in
Boy Scouts, but there was no badge for this. I made the mistake of
getting off the trail. The trees all looked alike. My arms were
scratched bloody. I sat on a rotten log to rest until fire ants
stung the hell out of me. My legs were covered with welts. I went a
bit further and heard the stream, went barefoot, stepping carefully
on mossy stones. The cold water was a relief. I found a dry
boulder. Checked for fire ants.

I was in a tropical forest. I couldn’t see
the sky, but it was still exactly what I had in mind. The lookits
were somewhere and they were watching. At least, for once, it
didn’t feel like it. I was as close to alone as it was going to
get. I was picking my nose, a full knuckle deep, and feeling pretty
good about it. Until someone giggled.

“Who’s there?” I called, oddly wondering if
I could convince them I was just scratching my nose.

Something in a tree. Something bright red. A
whole crew of things scrambled into the thick canopy, flashes of
yellow, blue and purple. They crossed from tree to tree like
squirrels. I splashed after them until the stream got deep and I
went back on land. Spots of sunlight penetrated the trees ahead. I
maneuvered around a tangle of vines and peeked through the leaves.
It was a clearing, of sorts. A massive stone slab with patches of
moss and snaky cracks. A huge tree was on the far side, its
branches as big as tree trunks. The bark was twisted and sinewy,
smooth and gray like a well-crafted relic.
Quite grand
.

The tree was without a single leaf, but
alive with color. Thousands of bright colored creatures squabbled
along the branches. Some crawled over each other, some wrestled,
and others rested quietly. They didn’t have feathers; they looked
like bats, but their colors were like poison dart frogs.

Several of them hovered near a guy at the
base of the tree
.
Spindle didn’t warn me about other people
in the Preserve. In fact, it was the first normal-looking person
I’d seen who wasn’t asking lame ass questions. He didn’t look like
he belonged here. His hair was long and his clothes ragged. He held
up his hand and the creatures grabbed it. A fluorescent pink one
hung by its long sharp tail.

I stayed in the trees and crossed the
stream, didn’t bother taking off my shoes. I hustled through the
ferns, over rocks to a soft patch of leaves until I was a lot
closer. The colored things were still there, but the guy was gone.
They had little arms and legs and their tails swished like whips.
They had snouts.
Caves and dragons. That was not a
dream.

I needed to get closer. I turned—he was
behind me.

I fell through the branches onto the open
slab and crawled backward. He stepped out of the trees. His skin
was bronze from the sun, his hair bleached. And he wasn’t a guy, he
was more like a kid. Older than me, maybe, just out of high school.
College?

“Who are you?” I said.

He flicked his sandy hair out of his eyes.
His eyes… they were the eyes of a dead fish. He listened, held out
his hand. I didn’t move. He shook his hand, insisting I take it, so
I reached up. He squeezed firmly, yanked me close.
Jesus, he
hasn’t showered in forever.

He wouldn’t let go. His pupils were much too
large. He pulled me closer. Pressure gripped my entire body. I
wanted to shake out of it but his eyes fixed me in place. They were
deep holes. He let go. I stumbled, too dizzy to run.

“
Are you all right
?” someone said on
my nojakk.

My nojakk was working. I tapped my cheek
several times. “Hello?”

“
Pivot would like to know if you are all
right.”

The blind guy had his face to the sun.
Something moved over me like a thousand dishrags snapping on a
clothesline. It was the things from the tree, slapping their
leathery wings, stirring the dust at my feet.

“
Can you speak?”
I heard again.

A golden flying thing was on the guy’s
shoulder, its tail curled around his neck.

“You said that?” I asked.

“
I did
,” the golden thing said
without moving its mouth.

“How’d you do that… wait, you talk?”

“
I do.”

I stroked my cheek. “How’d you get my
number?”

“
We’re good with technology.”
The
golden thing shrugged. “
I did a simple scan, decoded your
nojakk. You really should upgrade your passcodes.”

“Scanned it with what?”

“
It’s a mental scan. You wouldn’t
understand.”

I’m reading thoughts and stopping time. Now
there’s talking… things. Sure, why not. “What are you?” I said.
“Like a dragon or something?”

“
Phhsssh
.” Its lips flopped around,
exposing rows of sharp teeth. “
We’re grimmets, hailing from the
edge of the Milky Way. My name is Sighter.”

Grimmets.
Hmmmm
. Tiny dragons
speaking on nojakks, apparently with their mind. We missed that
species in biology class. And from the Milky Way? We missed that in
astronomy. Of course, we never covered timeslicing in physics. I
reached for Sighter, wanted to poke him, make sure he was real. He
snapped my finger with his tail, like a wet towel.

“CHRIST!” A red line swelled across my
knuckles. I put it to my lips. “Why’d you do that?”

“
We’re not pets.”

“Well, tell him that, you’re sitting on his
shoulder.”

“
I like him
.” He wrapped his tail
around the blind guy’s neck again. “
But Pivot doesn’t own me,
boy.”

“My name is Socket.”

“
I know.”

“Then why’d you call me boy?”

“
I just met you
.” He rolled his
bulging eyes. “
Do I have to explain everything?”

“Listen, three or four months ago I was
living a normal life, now I’m reading thoughts and stopping time
and you look like a golden dragon that did some sort of…” I waved
my hands over my head, frantically, “
mental scan
to steal my
passcodes and now you’re talking to me, without moving your lips.”
We stared at each other, deadpan, until I said, “So, yeah, explain
everything.”

Pivot’s eyes remained unfocused, but his
lips moved. Sighter nodded.

“
Fair enough, boy,”
Sighter said.
“
Follow us.”

We went to the tree. It wasn’t growing in
the stone slab, after all, but against it. The slab dropped off and
below, maybe fifteen feet, was a pond. The tree was rooted in that.
Pivot sat against the tree and Sighter climbed to the top of his
head. Hundreds of grimmets peeked out of hiding places along the
branches, their eyes glowing.

“
We came to help awaken the human
race.”

“This gets better every day,” I
muttered.

“
You don’t think Earth is the first
planet in the universe to make a mess out of their evolution, now
do you?”

“I didn’t even know there was life on other
planets.”

Sighter shook his head. “
You have so much
to learn, boy
.”

“I just got here. Remember?”

The grimmets fluttered around Pivot like
needy butterflies, fighting to be the next to swing on his fingers.
Sighter stood on his shoulder monitoring the fracas, waving them
off when they got too pushy.

“So who are you?” I asked the blind kid.
“Your name is Pivot, right?”

No answer. Then all the grimmets looked up.
Their eyes grew wider. Brighter. They scattered like bugs, found
stones to sit on, branches to hang from. Sighter crossed his arms.
They weren’t looking at me. They looked over my shoulder.

Someone strode across the stone slab. He was
about my age. Each one of his steps landed softly and purposefully.
His hair was black, properly cut. His one-piece suit was loose
fitting, green and beige. It may have been the colors of the
jungle, but it was too clean to belong in the Preserve.

“Salutations,” he said. “I see they have
finally let you out of the box.”

I was still taking in the camouflaged onesy
and the strange way he walked. It was almost like he did it
perfectly. Whatever that means. Guess he figured I was confused. He
jerked his thumb over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off me.
“The Garrison. They finally let you out. It can get quite stuffy in
there, no?”

Not a single grimmet stirred. Pivot sat
quietly, unnoticed. My gut sparked like a fire alarm just went
off.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I believe it is
high time we met.” He extended his hand. “I’m Broak.”

I shook it. He squeezed my hand tightly,
then quickly let go and rubbed it on his thigh.

“Your name is Broak?”

“Indeed, it is,” he said, tipping his head.
“I named myself. Didn’t care for the name I was given, decided I
needed something more regal and fitting. It is a combination of two
of the greatest Paladin warriors ever to live: Braiden Alexander
Faber and Stoak Glacial Ginshen. Braiden and Stoak.” He pronounced
each word crisply. “I am Broak.”

“How about that,” I stated.

Broak locked his gaze on me. I felt pressure
surround me, push against my head. I set my feet, prepared for what
might come next, but the probing was exploratory, not penetrating.
It ran over my skin, under my chin, through my scalp.

“You have an unusual name, as well,” he
said. “Dear Socket.”

“There’s no dear. Just Socket.”

“I see.” Broak was humming to himself.
Waiting.

“I don’t think the name comes from
anything,” I said. “My parents liked tools.”

People usually laughed at that. Not Broak.
Maybe I should’ve made something up about a great warrior named
Craftsman. He still wouldn’t have laughed.

“You are creating quite a stir, you know.”
He narrowed his eyes. “The whole Paladin Nation is a buzz about the
new find. I had to see you with my own eyes.”

I filled an awkward silence with a laugh. He
talked funny. “What’s the big
stir
?”

“Well, for one, you are sixteen years old
and timeslicing, my dear friend. That is quite abnormal. And so far
your preliminary evaluations are soaring. Only one cadet has ever
had higher scores than you.” He smiled. Teeth perfect.

“And that would beeee… you.” I gave him a
chance to fill in the blank – he was obviously proud – but he let
me do it.

“Do not feel disappointed. I am a product of
genetic engineering. New and improved, one might say.”

“You timeslice?”

“Oh, no. I will begin timeslicing when I’m
twenty, that’s the normal progression. You see, the body isn’t
prepared for such stress while it is still developing. At twenty,
you are adept physically as well as mentally. You realize you are
lucky to have survived your accidental timeslice.” He smiled,
again. A little too big. “Premature timeslicing can drain the life
from you, starve you to the end. It is a good thing you are here
for us to guide you.”

“I’m thrilled,” I said, thinking of my first
day.

He opened his mouth wide and laughed. It
sounded unnatural. Like he practiced laughing.

“Pike got a little aggressive in your
preliminary, yes, I heard. You handled it quite well, though. Most
cadets leave something like that unconscious. You, on the other
hand, actually spoke. Quite impressive, indeed.”

He looked me up and down, again; walked
around. Grimmets scurried out of his way. He made a full circle,
nearly stepping on Pivot. “Could you tell me something?” Broak held
my hair, let it fall off his fingers. “Why is your hair so unkempt
and lacking of color?”

This guy was way into my personal space. And
he was holding my hair. That was…
unnatural
. My stomach
tightened and sparked. Broak put his hands up like he felt a
warning.
I surrender.
He rubbed both hands on his pants.

“Pigmentation disorder.” I took a step
back.

“I have never heard of such a thing. You are
not albino, how is that possible?”

“I live in South Carolina but I’m standing
in a jungle somewhere in the world where there’s mountains. How’s
that possible?”

Suddenly, saying I lived in South Carolina
didn’t feel right.
Do I live here now?

He stopped observing and narrowed his eyes.
“You are intriguing, dear Socket. Take any other sixteen-year-old,
drive him through a wormhole and introduce him to a brutal minder
like Pike and, well, he’d be crying for mommy. You, on the other
hand, behave as if this happens every day. You are quite
extraordinary.”

“Not like I had a choice.”

“No. You didn’t.” His smile faded from his
smooth face. No sign of whiskers.