Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga

by Bertauski, Tony

  That was pretty much it.

  “Left turn in 100 yards,” the car finally said.

  I came off the bridge and took the shoulder to catch my turn. I hit the back roads, hugging corners between abandoned warehouses.

  “Obey the speed limit,” the car said.

  “I’ve been driving 2 miles per hour for the last hour! This will average out!”

  The shortcut didn’t last long. The stadium was still four blocks away when I hit traffic again. I wasn’t waiting this one out. I yanked the car to the side of the road and parked in front of a row of broken houses. I sprinted down the sidewalk and turned the corner and there, two blocks straight ahead, was Blackbaud Stadium.

  I hardly recognized it. The last time I was at Blackbaud was for a soccer game just two years earlier. They’d added on, since. It was twice as tall. I couldn’t see past the imposing wall at the main entrance, but could hear the crowd roaring inside. Lightners floated high above the stadium, illuminating the field and surrounding area.

  The parking lot was stuffed. People were hanging around grills and tailgates, raising their drinks when I passed. A red discus tag whizzed over my head, hovering to the other end of the lot where a kid ran it down and caught it with the curved end of a long stick. He slung it back a few hundred yards to someone on the other side. A bumper sticker read, Just like lacrosse. Only better.

  I stopped outside the main entrance. The line was out to the curb. My nojakk cheek vibrated. Chute’s voice bubbled inside my head.

  “Where are you?”

  I told her where and what I was looking at: a long, unmoving line. The crowd erupted inside the stadium.

  “Well, just hurry up!”

  A guy pushed out of the line, throwing his tickets over his head like confetti. A three-dimensional hologram glittered on the stub, a picture of a storm flashing over the ocean. The seats were good ones, center pitch, third row. A kid in front of me sucked Coke from a straw, wearing a plastic tagghet helmet with retractable yellow-tinted visor. The Charleston Squall logo flashed on the sides. He held the cup with both hands, staring at me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked the kid.

  He yanked his dad’s sleeve. His father continued shouting obscenities through his hands. The kid yanked again. The father finally looked down. The kid pointed at me.

  “They oversold the goddamn game,” the father said.

  “But you got tickets.”

  “There’s a bunch of counterfeit tickets floating around. The fire marshal closed the gates. Guess who got screwed?”

  “But they’re your seats, just have them check the stubs.”

  “What the hell you think I’m trying to do here, kid?”

  He turned back to shouting. People started throwing things. Soda cans bounced off the wall over the gates. Not long after that, the metal gates clanged shut. More trash went flying. A cold sensation drained down my neck, followed by garbled sounds, voices that didn’t make sense. It quickly turned into a brain-freeze. Suddenly, I was cold again.

  Haagloppllls-sssaaaa-sssss-HHHEESGAWTTA!

  “You all right?” The little kid slurped his drink.

  I was on my knee, head cradled in my hands. The sensation went from cold to hot. And I couldn’t remember stepping back and getting on one knee.

  Why is this happening?

  “You want a drink?” the kid asked.

  “How about an ice cube?”

  The kid popped the lid off and fished out a handful.

  “Thanks,” I said. My hands were shaking.

  The crowd dispersed, but only to the parking lot where they threw more trash at the gates. Security pushed them further out. Sweeper mechs hovered out of holes in the stadium walls like mechanical mice, sucking debris into their snouts.

  “Where are you?” Chute’s voice chimed on my nojakk.

  I got far away from the entrance and explained the deal.

  “I’m coming out.”

  “You should stay,” I said, half-hearted. “You don’t need to miss the game.”

  “We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  She was coming out. Streeter, too. They would miss the game for me. That’s what I wanted to hear.

  I went over to the grassy park area to the right of the main entrance and sat at one of the picnic tables, massaging the cold sensation that lingered in my neck. The cold fits were getting worse, and now there were voices talking through a watery veil. It wasn’t like I was picking up thoughts from by-standers, it was more like energy swelling up inside me. Something wanted out.

  Pon can’t know about this.

  Unexplained experiences weren’t good. It meant instability. The Paladin Nation did not look kindly on the unpredictable and unreliable. I already had Pon breathing up my ass, I didn’t need to tell him I was broken. It had to be the tension. The night off would help. Seeing Chute, too.

  A cup rattled. The kid was standing next to me, holding out the cup of ice. I took it. Thanks.

  His father called him over. The kid stood there, staring at me. I motioned to his father, standing out on the curb. “You better go.”

  The kid ran and took his father’s hand, looking back as they headed out to the parking lot. He waved and staggered along, trying to keep up with his father’s long steps, trying to see what was behind him. The world was so big and fast at that age, it was hard to see everything. My father always walked fast, too.

  I sucked on the ice. Didn’t care how grubby that kid’s hands were or how many boogers he had caked under his fingernails, the cold felt good. I tapped out the last cube stuck to the bottom, crumpled the empty cup and tossed it to a passing sweeper. The blinds were drawn on the ticket windows.

  I was about to tap my cheek to nojakk Chute when a gate opened and a group of kids stumbled out. One had a red ponytail bouncing on her shoulders. Chute. The other four were guys and one of them had his arm across her shoulders. It wasn’t Streeter.

  My stomach didn’t exactly flip with excitement. It hardened like a fist.

  T R A I N I N G

  paperboy

  I remembered those guys from school, a bunch of virtualmode addicts. They were still ugly but now they sported tagghet jerseys and strutted through the gates like big shit. Jenson had a huge nose, Perry had no chin, and Lee’s eyes were too close. The fourth one was Sheldon. He had blonde hair. He was the one with his arm over Chute’s shoulders.

  They bookended Chute – two on each side – and walked close to her. She held a game program and they pretended to be interested in what she was pointing at but they were slobbering wolves pretending to be sheep. I didn’t need to see their thoughts, I could feel their hunger.

  My lip was twitching.

  Chute ran for me when she saw me. I held out my arms and caught her leaping, spinning her round and round. I buried my face on her neck, inhaled her fragrance. Her energy tingled through my senses.

  Her hair was longer. Were her boobs bigger?

  “Oh, it’s so good to see you,” she said. “It feels like forever.”

  The tension in my chest melted.

  She squeezed my shoulders. “You’re like a machine. What’re they feeding you at that place?”

  “The same as you, I guess. Look at those guns.”

  She pulled her short-sleeve back and flexed her chiseled biceps. We had a laugh and I was lost staring at her, like I was drinking through my eyes. I’d never forget what she looked like, but time tends to erode the details. It was the brightness of her smile and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes I’d forgotten.

  She introduced her teammates. It had only been a year, but everyone was forgetting me.

  “This is Shelly.”

  “Shelly?”

  He uncrossed his skinny arms. “Sheldon.”

  We shook hands like arm wrestlers, squeezing a little too tight. A little too long. “What kind of name is Socket? You related to Craftsman?”

  The others snorted and sort of hid their smarmy grins.


  “Shelly!” Chute said, shoving him.

  “What? That was funny, come on. You ever heard of anyone named Socket?”

  “He’s my best friend, so be nice,” Chute interrupted before blondie had a chance to say something else. Or maybe he did say something and I didn’t hear it. I was still reeling. Friend?

  We were just friends? And who the hell is Shelly? My mouth hung open and twitched. I hated giving away emotions.

  “Where’s Streeter?” I asked.

  “He’s busy, couldn’t make it tonight.”

  “Busy? I get one night off and he’s busy?”

  “You need to call him.”

  “I will.” I reached for my cheek. “I’ll call him right now.”

  “Hey, man. If you got somewhere to go,” Shelly said, “we can take Chute off your hands. We got some tagghet business to talk about anyway, so you go call your little friend and we got this.”

  Little friend. That was a crack on Streeter’s height. He wanted me to know he and Chute were tight, that they were hanging out and talking when Streeter and I weren’t around. He wanted me to think they might even be doing things.

  “No,” I said. “It’s good, I got it.”

  I tapped my cheek and activated the nojakk, mumbling Streeter’s name. The call ticked along, trying to connect. Meanwhile, Shelly put a piece of gum in his mouth and stared at me like he was some badass. Christ, tagghet was making him delusional. The other morons were busy with Chute and her program, but Shelly was itching for trouble. Why couldn’t he just play nice? Was he trying to be big dick in charge and I was on his turf?

  I could play nice if they didn’t come off like possessive jocks. And they weren’t even jocks, they were goddamn computer dorks wearing uniforms. The only reason they tagged was because jetters required thought-projection and virtualmoders were prime candidates. Most of them had horrible coordination.

  He dropped the wrapper on the ground. “You ever tag?”

  “Huh?”

  “Tag. You know, tagghet. The game we were watching until you couldn’t get a ticket.”

  “Uh, yeah.” My call went to Streeter’s voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. I considered calling again.

  “So where do you go to school?”

  “Uh, nowhere. I’m homeschooled.”

  “Homeschooled? You got a homeschool team, is that it? What do you call yourselves, the Homeschool Hippies?” He hit Lee in the chest and the three of them laughed on command. “Homeschool Hippos?”

  He smacked the shit out of that gum while he laughed with his mouth wide open. Chute scolded him for being an asshole. But he had the other three rolling.

  “You’re lucky you don’t play us,” he said, catching his breath. “I’d beat your ass so wicked your goddamn hair would turn white.”

  They let loose, this time; half-turned, fell over each other. There was no stopping him, laughing right in my face. He was taking me out of the picture. Chute drilled him in the shoulder, this time. Called him a jerk off.

  “Oh, come on, now that was funny.” He regained his balance. “He’s already got white hair, get it? I’m so good that his hair is already white. Before I even play him, his hair is white. Get it? That shit’s funny. Come on, now.”

  “What position you play?” I asked.

  “Second lance.” He shadow-boxed at me and shuffled his feet, throwing an awkward right hook. “The best you’ll ever see.”

  “Lancer, huh?” I picked up the gum wrapper. “You must be quick.”

  “Dude, I’ll make you dizzy.”

  I was still nodding, thoughtfully. He juked around his boys, play-faking moves. When he was done pretend-scoring, he held his hands up like a heavyweight and bounced on his toes.

  I folded the wrapper and held it between two fingers. “You dropped this.”

  He smiled at his boys and swiped at the wrapper without looking but came up empty. He swatted again and missed. I’d barely moved my fingers and he’d whiffed twice.

  He stopped torturing the innocent stick of gum and finally looked at me. I turned my hand over, palm up, and the balled-up wrapper rolled into my hand.

  “I learned that in homeschool.”

  He pecked at the silver ball to catch me off-guard, but I bumped the wrapper off his wrist and caught it low with my other hand. He swung with his left just trying to knock it away and I batted the wrapper back to my right. Now he was swinging wild while the wrapper went back and forth between his hands. His cheeks were flush but he was chasing the bouncing ball like it was a phantom housefly.

  Finally, I popped it high above our heads. He watched it come down but before he could grab it I flicked it like a pebble shot out of slingshot; hit him right between the eyes. His head snapped back in surprise.

  It took a second for him to get his wits back. A red dot was glowing between his eyebrows. I had my empty hands up and parted my lips, the silver ball between my teeth.

  Shelly tried to smile, but I’d crossed that friendly line. His boys weren’t smiling, either. He thought about taking it to another level, but he couldn’t fight. He wished he could fight, but he was over his head. All bark, no bite.

  Instead of taking a swing, he wrapped his arms around Chute, interlocked his fingers over her stomach, pulling her against him tight. Smiling, sort of. “Let’s get out of here, guys.”

  He thought he had the upper hand, that teammates meant more than friendship, that Chute would choose them over me and that was the best way to strike back, but Chute was about a half second from planting an elbow in his left ear. He crossed her line.

  I should’ve let her do it, but when he touched her like that I didn’t respond. I reacted.

  I reached my mind around him like a net and dragged through him like fingernails. Pon had put the brain-freeze on me a hundred times. It was the quickest way to confuse an opponent.

  Shelly turned pale and wobbled backwards. She helped him along with a stiff shove. Shelly’s knees gave out and his boys caught him before he faceplanted in the grass.

  Chute stomped off, cursing at all of us. Me, included. Shelly might’ve been a jerk off, but I was a bully. She knew I did something. I was quickly after her. Shelly, he was drooling.

  Maybe she was right.

  T R A I N I N G

  A slice of time

  I was braced for a nojakk call from the Garrison to return for an unauthorized mind read, but I didn’t read his thoughts. It was a bare minimum movement of the mind that could be considered an assessment of a situation, nothing they’d censure me for doing.

  “I’m sorry, Chute. I just kind of, you know, lost my mind when he—”

  “They don’t usually act like that.”

  Maybe she’s not mad at me. “They’re jealous, that’s all.”

  “They’re just friends. They don’t have anything to be jealous about.”

  I sort of half-laughed, half-coughed, and looked away with a loud eh-hem.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Have you seen yourself, lately?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I just mean, duh, they’re guys.”

  “And I’m a girl, so what? That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

  “No. But they’re guys. They don’t know how to be friends with a girl, especially one that looks like you. Unless they’re gay. Are they gay? Because, you know, I was getting a vibe from Lee and I wasn’t sure—”

  “Listen, we’re just friends.”

  Friends. Okay. But a friend can mean anything. Could be someone you call to get something off your chest. Someone that shares notes in class or loans you money. Could be a friend with benefits. I started to ask the question, to get a little clarification, but I didn’t. I had to stop reacting. Besides, the night would go up in flames if I asked something like that. Call it a hunch. I’m not sure I wanted the answer to that, anyway.

  We waited for traffic before running across the street. My car was another four blocks up, all alone beneath
a street light. We walked in step, the old houses crowded against the sidewalk. Even shared a laugh. After a couple of blocks, she reached over and hooked her finger around mine and just like that it felt like I’d left just yesterday. Our hands were sweaty, but I wasn’t letting go. And Chute was still squeezing.

  “Do you want to go downtown?” I asked.

  “It’s late.”

  “We can sit at the market café and make fun of tourists, what do you say? Just like old times.”

  She had a curfew, but a quick call would push it back, especially when her older sister knew she was with me. She tapped her cheek and talked with her dad. It took a little conversation, but when she tapped off, she turned and smiled. “I’ve got until midnight.”

  “Who says I’m taking you home?”

  She socked me in the arm. Not hard, but directly on the triceps wound. It startled me, felt like she put a blow torch in my arm. The pain shot across my back and through my other arm. I had to put my hands on my knees for a breather.

  “Oh, are you all right?” She bent over, rubbing my back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize training had turned you into such a wuss.”

  “Oh, you’re going to get it.”

  She attempted to outrun me. I caught her four houses down, hoisted her on my hip and carried her like luggage. She laughed and screamed. There was no one around to hear her fake cries for help.

  “Oh, you’ve got such big Paladin muscles,” she said, giggling. “Are you taking me to headquarters?”

  “Yeah, I am. Then it’s right to the dungeon for some old fashioned torture.”

  “I’m calling the police!”

  “They won’t get here in time, but what I’m about to do to you could be considered a crime. My car’s right up there.”

  “I thought maybe you parked in Myrtle Beach. You should’ve picked me up at the stadium.”

  “And leave you with Shelly?” I set her down. “Not without Streeter.”

  She didn’t laugh so much at that. It felt like something just happened between us. She was quiet, then said, “When’s the last time you talked to him?”