Spindle didn’t seem to notice I didn’t give two shits. It struck me I was sitting in a white room wearing a one-piece battle garb. I plucked it off my skin, rubbed the silky texture between my fingers, poked it with my thumb, feeling the armorcloth threads stiffen to resist impact. It was white, matching the room. If I walked into the jungle, it would turn green. I swore a long time ago I wouldn’t wear something like that, but there I was, listening to an android dance around the room while I sat there in a stupid onesy.
“There is some concern with this bit of data,” Spindle announced.
He was behind a translucent pyramidal bar that dwarfed all the others. Its base was as wide as Spindle’s shoulders and the tip twinkled near his knees. The surface was pearly, encasing sparkling lights within.
“It appears to be an undefined hidden potential that you have just recently begun to express. However, we do not know what the ability is. It has never been detected before.” Spindle stepped through the pyramid. “Are you experiencing anything unusual?”
He was talking about the cold sensation that washed down my neck, and the garbled voices that came with it; the weird visions I had with Com. Was Pon dead?
There was something definitely unusual and if my raw instincts were as good as the data suggested, I wasn’t telling him. I needed time to sort through it, but I had a feeling I already knew what was happening.
Haagloppllls-sssaaaa-sssss-HHHEESGAWTTA! I heard that nonsense trickle down my neck when I was waiting in line for the tagghet game, when the kid gave me an ice cube. And then I heard it again when Chute said it, just before the gun fired. She was warning me: Socket! He’s got a— Hhheesgawtta… He’s got a…
He’s got a gun.
I heard her warn me an hour before it happened. The future was coming to me as a cold, paralyzing sensation, speaking through a thick barrier of time. And I wasn’t controlling it.
I looked Spindle square in his eyelight.
“No, nothing unusual.”
Spindle waited for me to elaborate, or to perhaps finish my thoughts. I didn’t.
He waved his arms and the colored bars, spikes and lines vanished. “Let us move to the training room to prepare for the pre-Trial, shall we?”
“Pre-Trial? That’s not scheduled for two weeks.”
“There has been a change in the schedule. Pon will soon be temporarily reassigned to assist in Pike’s relocation.”
“Pike is being relocated? Again?”
“There is evidence he has contacted someone outside his imprisonment. His location is crucial to his isolation. Only trusted Paladins can relocate him.”
Pike, the greatest Paladin traitor of all time, had been secretly imprisoned for an entire year, ever since I exposed him. He carried more knowledge about the duplicate population than everyone thought, but it came with a price. Pike was already a superior minder, a Paladin with exceptional psychic skills including the ability to read thoughts, to see without eyes and to heal minds. Or destroy them.
But his abilities were appearing to grow when they should have been diminishing under the pressure of Paladin minders. In fact, he recently gained control of a minder, drained his personality and will and turned him into his own personal puppet. The minder turned on his companions, killing one and injuring two more. He was stopped, but was a zombie by then.
“Trainer Pon would like for you to complete the pre-Trial exercise this morning,” Spindle said. “This is the second of three pre-Trial exercises required to be completed before the Realization Trial. According to the data, you are ready.”
Off to training we went. I was one of the best Paladins of the future. Why don’t I feel like one of them?
Riddled
I was alone in the training room. Fresh air filtered through microscopic pores in the walls, carrying a subtle undercurrent of purification.
It was early in the morning, not that there was a clock. Spindle left at 5:55 AM, as he did every morning, and let me stand ready in the center of the room, hands behind my back. Pon would arrive precisely five minutes later. He was never late. Never early.
I never knew where he was going to enter the room. It was always a surprise. He could enter anywhere along the walls or through a trapdoor. Once he dropped from the ceiling. Sometimes he strolled into the room. Sometimes he attacked. Always be ready.
And he always pointed out something I fucked up. Just once, it’d be cool if he walked in, clapped his hands, said “Oh, you’ve outdone yourself this time, Socket! That’s my boy! MY MAIN MAN!”
Instead, he’ll drop from the ceiling because he knows secrets. He claimed to know every secret tunnel in the Garrison. Claimed he knew them better than the Commander himself. Maybe he dug those tunnels himself because he was sooo goddamn important—
“Control your thoughts, cadet.” Pon emerged from a solid wall.
I tightened my mind.
He pursed his lips, took a moment to observe. Then, with his hands behind his back, paced around me. His footsteps fell like a predator. I mindfully followed his presence without turning as he walked out of eyeshot. I followed his energy, followed his movements and searched his intentions. He stopped directly behind me and took a balanced stance. His mind reached around, searching for weakness. If I was not vigilant, he would squeeze me unconscious. He’d done it before. That sort of thing is not easy to forget, especially when you piss your pants.
“Tell me, cadet, that I haven’t wasted a year training you?”
He probed my mind some more, gave me an opportunity to respond. I wasn’t answering that.
He circled around, looking thoughtfully at the ground. The psychic pressure intensified, threatened to push through my barriers and creep inside. If he got in, I would suffer major brain freeze and, politely put, go night-night.
I closed my eyes to steel my mind, whittled my focus down to a tiny point. Weak minds were clay in Pon’s hands. He was an artisan who could mold the mind’s fabric or squish it between his fingers.
He made a complete circle and stopped in front of me. I remained resolute. Knees flexed, ready to timeslice if he attacked… for the purposes of training, of course.
“You can never go home, cadet. It does not exist for you anymore.”
“It was just a visit.”
“That life has passed.”
“They’re friends, like family. I’m not turning my back on them.”
“Understand the conflict, cadet. Understand what you wanted your trip to be. You want a girlfriend to hold your hand. You want to do things ordinary people do. You want to be what you once were.” He tapped his head. “Those are your thoughts, and therein lay your suffering.”
I’ll tell you what suffering is. It’s training non-stop. Suffering is going a week without sleep. It’s breaking bones and gashing skin. It’s getting your brain squeezed like a fucking lemon.
“This present moment is vital, cadet. This moment is all there is. The present moment does not care what you think or how you feel, it exists regardless. You exist in it, not separate from it. The present moment is the beginning and the end.” He made a circle with his finger and thumb. “Your feelings about it are irrelevant.”
What if I don’t care?
His eyes were light blue. A psychic storm rushed through his small, sharp pupils and absorbed my thoughts and emotions. I let him see the doubt rumbling inside.
“It feels suffocating, mmm?” he asked. “Emptiness? Uselessness? Is that how you feel?”
“How about uncertainty.”
“I see,” he said. “And these feelings of apathy suck the life from your focus, mmm?”
“Something like that.”
He stood still. Only the room seemed to breathe.
“Cadet, we serve this world, that is our purpose. Our sole directive. Do you think your loneliness is a fair price for that service, mmm? We save the world from itself, not because we feel like it. Because it is our duty.”
“Not all of them want to be saved.”
“They are lost. We are their shepherds.”
“And they still don’t give a shit.”
“We don’t ask for gratitude.” He lowered his eyebrows. “When the universe cries, cadet, you answer. Do you think life will understand your failure because you don’t feel like serving?” The words imprinted on my mind, burning like a hot iron. “Growth is difficult, cadet, that is a fact.”
He moved very close. His breath streamed through his nostrils. I did not look away. I reached out to him with my mind and pushed back. The room crackled with our energy. My backbone vibrated. His eyes were open and empty. There was never anything to see inside Pon, but I always looked for a hint of weakness, a clue of motivation. But there was never anyone inside, he was seamless. Pure, like water.
I was rooted to the floor, ready to strike. I was in the room. In the moment.
He stepped back. Satisfied. “The Realization Trial is in twenty-two days. If it was today, you would fail.”
“I still don’t know the objective.”
“The objective is simple: You must see.”
“I see just fine.”
“Says the blind man. The urgency to see clearly, to act directly, is upon you. It is now, cadet. Your preparation is not just physical and mental, it is your entire being. You prepare to be everyone. And to be no one.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Precisely. The true enemy is within you. But first you must see the enemy. Do you see him, blind man? Do you see the enemy, mmm?”
My body tightened.
Precisely.
Pon stepped backwards. The room transformed with each step. The putty walls turned brown and tan. The floor became sandy and the ceiling an endless blue sky. Boulders grew around me, tall, sharp and dusty. By the time Pon reached where the wall had been, it looked as if the Sonora Desert ran for miles beyond.
“This is a pre-Trial exercise,” Pon said. “Defeat your enemy, cadet.”
The sun was high above, stinging my cheeks. Spindle looked down from one of the boulders. He was not wearing his plum-colored overcoat. Steam rose from his silver body, the scalding heat bending the air around him.
“That’s an image,” I said. “That’s not actually Spindle, right?”
“Do not hesitate to do what life requires. When you know the truth, action is immediate, decisive and complete.”
“I can’t destroy Spindle, Pon.”
A smile touched his lips. “Spindle is not his body.”
“But that’s not right.”
“Do not fear death, cadet. Embrace it.” Pon took one last step, vanishing through the invisible wall space. His voice remained. “For in death, there is rebirth.”
Spindle’s faceplate was blank. His red eyelight darkened. He had no weapons. He didn’t need them. He bent at the knees, touched his fingers on the ground, crouching like a tiger. I touched the evolvers at my belt.
Do not let feelings obscure the truth.
See clearly.
See what is, not what you want.
Why does that fucker speak in riddles?
Spindle sprang to the other wall, puncturing the stone with his fingers, gripping it like a cat on a tree. Pebbles trickled down. Pressure was inside my skull. Defeat my friend.
“It is not your enemy you fight, but your thoughts.” Pon’s voice was in my head. “That is the training.”
Dust obscured my vision. Spindle’s dark eyelight pierced the cloud. Pressure built within me, culminating in my chest. I clutched my weapons, braced for impact.
Spindle would have to die.
Dead Battery
“You want a drink?” The kid holds his father’s hand, sucks on the straw.
They walk across the parking lot, leave me on the curb. When the kid turns around, his face is blank. It has a black eyelight.
My chest is tight.
The parking lot is gone. The kid and his father, too. I am pinned against a rock, sand grinding into my shoulder. Spindle is over me, his eyelight black. His fingertips are slowly piercing the bubble shield surrounding me, aiming at my chest.
“Where’s Chute?” The kid is back, holding his father’s hand. They’re behind Spindle.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Um, where am I?”
“You want a drink?”
He points the straw at me.
Spindle hovers over me, pushing his fingers closer. Slowly, slowly they creep toward my heart. This is a test. It is only a test. Fail and you die.
The eyelight is dark.
Pressure.
Ice rattles in a cup. The kid and his father are halfway across the desert now. He’s sucking on the straw. I hear him as if he’s three feet away. You want a drink?
I just, ah… where’re you going?
Spindle’s face flashes, his fingers an inch away. My chest inflates. Something wants out.
The kid tugs on his father’s hand, tries to pull him back, reaches the cup toward me. His father looks down. It’ll be all right, son.
But he wants a drink.
The father turns. But it’s not the kid’s father holding his hand. It’s my father. It’ll be all right.
I reach but they are too far. Wait, wait! Don’t go. I… I need a drink.
Black eyelight.
An eruption. Something gets out.
Spindle is crumpled against a boulder, its surface indented with the force of his body. The boulders, sand and sky disappear into the ground. I’m in a white room. Spindle sprawled on the floor.
Eyelight out.
I screamed.
“You’re dreaming, Socket.” Mother placed her hand on my arm.
I was in a bed. The room was warm and spacious. The only furniture was the bed I was sitting on and the chair Mother stood by. Several monitors blipped near the bed. A wide window, across the room, covered the entire wall and overlooked green mountains in the distance. The view cast a glow through the dimly lit room.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“You’re in the infirmary.”
My left arm tingled where skin was scuffed away. There was a fight. Spindle’s fingers. Sand. Was that yesterday?
“You were in the pre-Trial exercise two days ago,” she said. “But you exhausted your energy levels and slipped into a short coma.”
“I don’t remember timeslicing. How could I exhaust myself?”
“There were some… unexpected reactions.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t want to say until we get a full analysis. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Did I pass?”
She nodded, then took a note tablet and some recording gear off the nightstand and put them in her briefcase.
“Why am I dressed in street clothes?” I asked.
“We’re going home.”
“Home? I was just… wait.” I looked around. “Where’s Spindle?”
She finished packing, stood straight and pushed her hair behind her ear. She blew out her breath, as if it was stale and tired. She tried that fake reassuring smile but didn’t even have the strength to do that. “He’s being attended to.”
“Is he all right? I didn’t… he’s not hurt, is he?”
“He’ll be good as new, Socket, but he’ll need some maintenance before he’s activated again.”
He was slumped against the boulder. There was an indention in the stone, as if he’d been shot from a cannon. No eyelight. He had me beat. He was inches from ending the exercise, but somehow I threw him off. That part was blank. But I saw him, motionless. Lifeless.
“Pon made me do it.”
“It’s part of training. Spindle will be fine, trust me.” She stroked my arm reassuringly. “Now, can you swing your legs off the bed? I don’t want you to stand just yet, just let your feet touch the floor.”
I just woke up and she was rushing me out the door. Why didn’t they just wheel me out to the car while I was comatose? Maybe that’s what she was getting ready to do.
My feet were co
ld, tingling with pins and needles. The floor hurt. Mother clutched my arm to slow me down, making sure I didn’t try to the stand. My weight ached in my shins. I was already breathing hard. The room was getting darker.
“Sit there a second.” She touched her nojakk cheek. “I need three servys in infirmary 204 with a floater as soon as possible.” Then she muttered to herself. “Where the hell are they?”
“He cannot leave the premises.” Pon stood against the wall. Was he there the entire time?
“I don’t need your permission,” Mother said.
“He is my cadet. He will stay.”
“He’s depleted, Pon! You can read the diagnosis yourself. He needs rest.”
Pon stood resolute, hands clamped behind his back. “He needs to focus.”
“HE NEEDS REST, GODDAMNIT!” Mother slammed the nightstand, knocking a cup to the floor. “He has barely slept in the past month. He has logged more training hours than any other cadet. He cannot continue at this rate and I think the result of the last exercise is proof enough!”
“The Realization Trial is too close. He must not lose focus. I insist he remain under my tutelage.”
“Your tutelage? You have destroyed more cadets than any trainer in the Paladin Nation. You have wasted so much talent with your relentless antics. You cannot grind them down, Pon. They have to recoup.”
They were the same height – Mother was twice as fiery – but Pon could break her with a thought. I eased more weight onto my feet but even the slightest movement made my head spin.
“Cadets that survive my training are the best the Nation has to offer,” Pon said, simply and softly.
“Survive?” Mother said. “The lucky ones survive. Socket isn’t going to become one of your unlucky ones, he’s coming home. Step aside.”
Pon considered her demand, then slowly walked over to the window.
Mother tapped her cheek. “Where are my goddamn servys?”
“These circumstances are quite unusual,” Pon said. “A cadet’s mother making demands of his trainer.”
“I’m acting as a responsible member of the Paladin Nation, whether he’s my son or not. Set your ego aside and look at the cadet sitting on the bed. He cannot stand. He is of no use to the Nation if he’s broken.”
Socket 2 - The Training of Socket Greeny Page 5
