Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga

by Bertauski, Tony

  They weren’t sure what happened, so they sent me home. According to the Commander, they cooked up a scheme to put me under stress to replicate the outcome. They couldn’t make me aware of the plan because it might skew the results, so they concocted a confrontation. And lucky them, I set them up with my colossal failure at the Judgment Day club. Pon behaved like Pike, pretended to be a traitor. He attacked. And I responded.

  According to the Commander.

  Then let me see Pon, I told them. Bring him here and I’ll tell you if he was pretending. I saw it, the eyes don’t lie. Pike was in there. He held the dagger to my throat. He had every intention of killing me.

  Pigs go to slaughter.

  But they didn’t bring Pon to me. Trust us, they said. Pon is no traitor. But they were hiding something, I could feel it, sensed it in their minds. Even the Commander. And trust? They exhausted that privilege long ago. But I had nowhere else to go. No one else to believe. My own mother withheld information from me. Who am I going to trust now?

  Another gust of wind whipped my hair across my face, like the world was asking a question: Sure you don’t want to try jumping? You never know, you might survive.

  I kicked pebbles over the edge and watched them bang against the cliff until they disappeared. I took a knife from my belt and unfolded it, touched the reflective steel and razor edge.

  I’m one of them. I can be nothing else.

  With one long stroke, I cut my hair at the scalp and held a handful before me.

  Socket Greeny had long white hair. It had always set me apart, identified me in every crowd. Pon hated my long hair because it had no purpose, no function. But Pon was gone. No matter what the Commander said, I would never see him again, even if they produced a person that walked and talked like him. The teacher is gone.

  With my toes over the edge, looking straight down, I let go of the hair. It fluttered in a thousand directions, swirling and separating like strands of silk.

  I cut away another chunk, and another, the hair sucked out and dispersed to the world. The world takes. What choice did I have but to give them all of me? To surrender. To accept what am I, whatever that may be. To accept whatever this moment contains. However ugly. However cruel.

  Life, as it is, the only teacher.

  “I have come for you, Master Socket.” Spindle approached from behind. “The Commander would like to see you.”

  I cut away the last lock of hair and replaced the knife.

  “You look very different,” Spindle said.

  “You know what used to be out there?” I pointed across the field. “Home.”

  “It still is.”

  “No, Spindle. It’s where I was born. That’s all. Nothing more.” I caressed the rough stubble on my scalp. “I no longer matter to that world.”

  “Pardon my opinion,” Spindle said, “but the world is very lucky to have you.”

  I held up the last lock of hair. The strands slipped between my fingers, flaying in the wind then yanked from my grip like the world was hungry. There was nothing left to give. I’m not a boyfriend, not a best friend, nor a son. I’m empty.

  “The world can have all of me.”

  With my toes perched over the edge, another gust of wind asked, Last chance, Socket. I turned to Spindle, standing patiently at the leaper entrance, with my heels over the edge. Spindle titled his head, his faceplate void of color. He did not lunge after me. The end was a mere shuffle away, but he gave me the opportunity to choose. He was an android – a machine – not capable of emotion, created only to calculate. Maybe he knew I wasn’t going to make that step. He knew I was only resisting my fate; there was no chance I would step backwards. Or perhaps he was watching me swim in the ocean and could not save me. No man or machine could save me from myself. They can only watch.

  I will serve the world.

  I stepped away from the ledge. Spindle’s faceplate swirled with a myriad of blues and greens.

  But not embrace it.

  We went to see the Commander and to chart a new course for the Paladin Nation. One that included a cadet that sensed the future. A cadet that moved things with his mind.

  A new age was upon us.

  VI

  The teacher opens the door. The student enters alone.

  Buddhist proverb

  Your past is an anchor that cannot be cut away. Ignore it, and it will drag behind you, snagging coral and rock in your wake. Your only choice is to pull it aboard to sail freely in all directions.

  Trey Greeny

  T R A I N I N G

  flawed

  A bead of sweat tracked the side of my face, dangled from my chin.

  Breathe in.

  My feet were on opposite thighs; my legs folded in a tight lotus position.

  Breathe out.

  I closed my eyes, the stagnant air wrapped around me, pulling sweat down both cheeks. Drip, drip, drip.

  Breathe in.

  My awareness expanded to the four walls.

  Breathe out.

  Every tissue attuned to the infinitesimal swirl of electrons and the pulsing essence within.

  Breathe in.

  Empty of thoughts.

  Breath out.

  Just the room.

  Breathe in.

  Here.

  Breathe out.

  The walls spit faceless warriors, their deadly fingers aimed for my throat. The evolvers ignited onto my arms. I twisted. Long, blue whips flailed from my hands. Fiery energy burst from the quiet core of my being, waves of telekinetic power hitting the assailants.

  Swipe. Roll.

  The whips cut through them. Dismembered arms thumped on the floor. Clay-like substance spattered the walls.

  Feint.

  They counter-attacked. Fingers extended.

  RrrrrrrrrrrrrrragharaRRRRRRRRRG!

  Another subsonic wave burst from my chest. The warm substance of their bodies splashed over me. I dropped to one knee, chest heaving. I felt the last twitches of their lifeless torsos around me.

  Except one.

  The last assassin was legless, but lifted itself onto its hands. It craned its neck, and circled around the room.

  The evolvers unfolded from my arms. The enemy moved carefully over the body parts. I closed my eyes and centered my awareness. Sensing the room, I located the enemy’s energy and felt it stalking me.

  It bent at the elbows, braced itself against the wall and sprang like a lion.

  I felt the space close between us. I deflected its arms open and plunged my hands deep into its chest. The torso flailed, the muscles contracting as I brought it closer, leveraging my grip, my arms bulging until it ripped apart. The body split open with a wet, sucking sound, spewing warm fluid.

  My bicep was cut open. White and meaty. Blood beaded on the edges, then began to ooze over my slime-caked skin.

  “Mission complete,” the room reported.

  The room was still.

  “AGAIN!” I shouted.

  The floor quivered. The slimy substance absorbed into the floor like a sponge until the room was white and pristine. The smell of wet clay lingered. Filtered air wafted through the walls, clearing the atmosphere.

  I took my place at the center and pulled my feet into lotus position. Breathe in.

  “Master Socket.” Spindle entered. “I must insist you rest.”

  “When I am finished.”

  “You have completed this exercise twenty times this morning.”

  I looked at the gaping wound. “And I have failed as many.”

  “I cannot allow you to continue. You do not have safety precautions activated. Failure could result in great harm.”

  “How else am I going to learn?”

  “Trainer Pon would not condone your methods.”

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  Pon was gone but the Paladins and Spindle still pretended like he had simply been reassigned. He wouldn’t be available but would instead send orders. And trust us, Socket, do you really think Pike could o
vercome a Paladin like Pon? Then let me see him, just one look.

  You’ll see him again, the Commander promised. For the moment, focus.

  But Pon never came. Instead his orders were relayed through Spindle, supplying daily exercises. Not for a second did I believe Pon was actually sending them, so I silently became the teacher and learned how to swim. I looked inside myself for guidance, driving myself far beyond the menial exercises “Pon” was sending. I didn’t want to achieve the goals, I wanted to crush them. I wanted to obliterate everything set in front of me. I wanted nothing less than the flawless achievement of total annihilation.

  “I beg you to rest, Master Socket. You have not slept in three days.” He reached for my forehead to read my vitals. I pulled away. He didn’t need to tell me how I felt. I had infinite energy, as if something had been released inside. This energy came out hot and angry. Undeniable.

  I had never moved more freely. I had to keep moving forward, don’t look back. Home was back there. Chute. The rest. Just don’t look. I found solace in the pureness of action, when I immersed myself in missions, banished all thoughts. I annihilated the enemies sometimes wondering who or what I was actually fighting.

  “There are many exercises remaining.” Spindle stepped back, sensing my agitation. “The Realization Trial is near and I am afraid you will not be prepared if you do not complete them.”

  “I’ll get to them.”

  “Could I send for food and drink? I believe you are running low on sustenance.”

  “You can leave.” I pointed away. “I’ll call when I need you.”

  Colors scattered across Spindle’s faceplate as he contemplated what to do. He was watching me burn out, but, just as on the ledge, he did not attempt to save me. He bowed slightly and left the room.

  I didn’t need Spindle anymore. I didn’t need anyone.

  I returned to breathing, calming my mind, letting thoughts fall away. Soon the room opened to me and, once again, I expanded into its spaciousness. Silence washed over me, carried away the heat of anger. Patiently, I awaited the essential flow of life to open in my awareness.

  Instead, cold drained down the back of my neck.

  It spread through my shoulders, down my back. Voices warbled distantly. Inaudibly, at first. I braced tighter, pushed the sounds away, but they would not be denied. It wasn’t what they said that caused the cold anger to flame brighter. It was laughter.

  From somewhere across the planet Pike was laughing. He would have me in the future is what it meant. Surrender was inevitable.

  “NO!”

  I activated the evolvers, lashing whips from my hands, tearing at the air, gashing deep tracks into the walls. I spun, twisted and attacked the laughter that rang all around, thrashing at the invisible voice.

  My lungs suddenly deflated, unable to hold air. My balance swirled inside my head; I couldn’t hold myself up.

  The room dimmed.

  Spindle picked me up. The furnace of hate was still burning.

  And laughter trailed in my head.

  T R A I N I N G

  A paladin is born

  “To the Preserve, Spindle.”

  For some reason, he listened. We loaded onto a floating cart and sped down the dark paths of the Preserve. The clouds spun overhead and cold laughter trickled down my spine. I clamped my hands over my ears like I could stop it.

  As we came out of the trees, the vehicle slowed, creeping up a wide slab of stone. We approached the muscled branches of the grimmet tree. They crawled from their holes and perched on the limbs, turning the barren tree bright with color. As we neared, the cold sensation began to warm. The laughter faded.

  Spindle walked around to my side and lifted me from my seat. He ignored my order to leave me alone. When he attempted to put me on my feet, my legs buckled.

  “You will recuperate here, Master Socket.” He laid me gently between the gnarly flares in the tree trunk. “Rest here.”

  Warmth vibrated from the tree as if the core were alive. The grimmets gazed down, the trunk flares holding me like my mother’s arms. Rudder crawled down and nestled onto my neck, purring intensely. His breath rattled through my chest. Soon our breathing synchronized into long, deep draws.

  When I opened my eyes again, it was dark. The sky was filled with stars. The grimmets were still out, staring down at me. Then I realized it wasn’t stars, it was the grimmet’s eyes, sparkling with points of light. Warmth rose up from inside once again, hanging heavy on my eyelids. I sunk into the oblivion of sleep.

  I didn’t dream. Sometimes, I could hear the night sounds around me, mosquito wings buzzing in my ear and their piercing bites, but I never opened my eyes. My body felt heavy, like mercury bubbled up from a well-spring deep inside, filling my veins, weighing on my heart, encasing it like a suit of armor.

  The Preserve was alive with birds welcoming the morning when I woke. The branches of the grimmet tree were empty, their purrs vibrating inside. A thick layer of dew sparkled on the trees. My face was damp, the tip of my nose cold and numb. Rudder rolled off my shoulder onto a coarse blanket covering my legs. I sensed the floral essence of my mother’s touch.

  The Realization Trial was days away, but no one was urging me to get up. No servys floating up the slab with breakfast. Spindle wasn’t there with the morning’s schedule. It was just the birds singing. The sun rising.

  I tapped my cheek for messages. Thirty of them. Most were from Streeter and Chute. They were weeks old. Spindle must’ve released them. Pon would’ve destroyed them, if he was around.

  The messages played while I crawled down from the slab to the pond below. Hey, Socket, it’s Chute. I hope you’re getting these messages. Can you call back, or send a reply through your mother? I know you have some big test coming up and I just want to talk to you. I just want to know you’re okay, that’s all. And, well, you know, I, uh… just call. Okay.

  I splashed water on my face and stripped off my shirt. My skin contracted in the brisk air. I dipped my shirt in the pond and squeezed out the excess, rubbing it over my shoulders.

  Socket, it’s Streeter. Hey, where are you? Did they send you off planet? Call me soon, I got to tell you about gear addiction therapy. Seriously, call. Or have Spindle call or something.

  My knees dented the sandy mud. A foggy cloud of emotion filled my head. My face got heavy.

  I’m checking messages, Chute said. Why haven’t you called? I’m a little worried because, you know, the way things went the last time you were here. Your mother says you’re all right and I believe her and everything, but I want to talk to you. I really want to hear your voice.

  Sadness hardened in my throat.

  I wish you would call, Chute’s message said. I just want to hear you’re okay.

  I convulsed.

  Socket, Streeter’s message said. You all right?

  I squeezed the muddy sand between my fingers.

  I think about you everyday, Chute said.

  I dropped my chin to my chest, heaving like the oxygen had been sucked out of the air, suffocating like I was on another planet. The atmosphere was crushing me.

  My hands plunked into the water, sinking into the mud below. My reflection stared back. My hair stabbed in all directions. My cheeks were stretched against the bones, my ribs poking out.

  Who is looking back?

  “Delete!” I slapped my cheek, again and again. “DELETE IT ALL!”

  The nojakk voice mail reported: Messages deleted.

  I am no longer that person! That was yesterday! Another life!

  I marched into the pond. The cold seeped through me, numbing the heaviness.

  I can’t look back, you understand? I just… I just can’t.

  The water was at my throat. It took the feeling from my skin. Another step, the water crept over my lips.

  I’m sorry, Chute.

  The chilly water grabbed my scalp. I floated off the bottom, drifting beneath the surface. The water buoyed me in limbo. Life above. Peace below.
<
br />   My cheeks expanded with my last breath.

  Fighting the water that pushes on your lips…

  Sunlight shimmered down, flickering around me. Water leaked into my mouth, pooled under my tongue. Tiny bubbles streamed out, finding their way to the world above.

  Water, the very substance that gives you life.

  My toes touched bottom. The sun was a distant ball blurred on the surface, its light dim and distorted, barely reaching the cold depths where I lingered.

  When life calls for you, Mother once said, you must find the strength to answer.

  My lungs burned.

  Let’s hope you are stronger than I am, she said.

  The watery sun dimmed in a darkening tunnel.

  You can’t see what I see in you, she said.

  My heart thudded.

  But trust me, she said. Trust what I see in you.

  Shrinking. Smaller. And smaller.

  Trust.

  Disappearing from this world.

  What I see in you.

  My body, my cells, my being stopped struggling. The dying light was replaced by images of my past. Memories. I saw my father. My mother. I saw Streeter. And Chute. The cold had reached my core. Are you sure?

  The world was so heavy. I was so small. So imperfect.

  Their faces flicked through my inner vision, spinning further and further back, nearing my earliest days. Are you sure?

  Maybe they were just memories, but there was something indestructible. Something of infinite value. Something that said, Yes, the world is lucky to have you. Something that reminded me that no matter what the struggle, there is nowhere to go. There is no place else. There is only now.