Are you sure?
I had to answer. Yes or no.
In the last moments, I pushed off the bottom.
Water gushed into my mouth as I broke the surface.
I inhaled hungrily at life. Hacking and choking, I struggled to the shore and collapsed. The grimmets watched me struggle to breathe. To live.
Were they watching me on the bottom, too? Where was everyone? Mother was never around. Pivot left. Pon, too. And my father, he was the first of all of them to leave. They all checked out. All of them, letting me drown.
I slapped at the water. Cursing no one. Cursing everyone.
Everything.
My chest contracted. Pressure building. Stiffening.
The pressure wound inside my chest, locked and loaded. I smashed my fists into the water and telekinetic waves erupted through my body. Water exploded in a geyser of foam and spray, thumping with supersonic depth, reaching the top of the grimmet tree and raining down. I screamed their names, cursed them for abandoning me. I pounded the water until my knees gave out.
My strength was sapped, but a resolution had settled in its place. I did not choose death.
Live, I would, but not for joy.
I would mourn the death of Socket Greeny, for he was still on the bottom of that pond.
Water dripped from my face, distorting the water’s reflection. I recognized the face looking back. It was hard and empty. It had no name. But I knew it.
A Paladin has been born.
T R A I N I N G
ice shatters
The days went by in a timeless blur.
Not many people spoke to me, leaving Spindle to pass along instructions. He didn’t lecture me on the importance of rest; he gave up on that.
He announced when my day of Realization had arrived. He walked to the grimmet tree. I was sitting beneath it, my legs folded under me, in meditation. He waited until I emerged from my stillness and gently requested that I follow him. Energy rustled the in my wake.
We went to a room. He left me there, perhaps expecting me to meditate once again. Instead, I called for it to build an environment. The white walls formed an exact replica of the alcove perched high on the Garrison cliff. I sat on the ledge and let my feet dangle.
It was an important day, that day. Invisible cars had been approaching the Garrison since morning, masked by back-reflection, making the space appear warped around the car. Crawler guards crept along the perimeter running their own back-reflecting gear, distorting the tree trunks as they passed, following each car that swayed in the grass.
A very important day.
A revolutionary cadet will be tested in the Realization Trial today. One that moved objects with his mind. One that might see the future.
Rain fell from the gray sky and the room mimicked the drops with exact precision. It soaked my hair.
Another car approached, this one evident as the rain was repelled by the warped space cruising over the boulders. Crawler guards followed right out in the open this time, their spidery legs gracefully covering the open land, their glowing eyelights scanning the environment. The clandestine vehicle breezed quickly over the field, slowing as it approached the sheer face of the cliff wall. I leaned over and watched it merge inside.
So important.
Mother emerged from empty air several feet in front of me. She called for a personal bubble to resist the rain. Her breath staggered at first. I could only assume it was the way I looked. I’d lost weight, sure, but it was more than that. My energy was darker than ever, like a storm cloud. She composed herself, then appeared to walk on air to sit next to me. Together, we watched the invisible cars float over the field. Some fast, some slow.
She placed her hand on mine. Her touch was hot. Perhaps she was not any warmer than normal. She had attempted to eat meals with me in my final days of training, but I didn’t take the time to stop, preferring to get my nourishment from lifepatches and hydration paste. I slept beneath the grimmet tree. When I woke, I trained. No one came to get me. No one bothered me. Alone, I completed my training. All exercises perfected.
I executed every move, every thought, with exact precision. I learned new information by absorbing it. I merged with the enemy, merged with the environment, melted into the intelligence innate in all forms. I became the enemy, knew it from the inside. I was empty of obstacles.
I am the weapon.
“Ice shatters.” My mother took her hand away. “Water flows.”
I narrowed my eyes and watched the field. An emotion twisted in my belly, threatened to manifest.
“It’s what your father said after he failed his Realization Trial.” She was lost in a memory. “It’s what he said when he emerged from a three day coma. At one point, they didn’t expect him to awaken, but then he muttered those words and opened his eyes. He doesn’t remember saying it.”
Oddly, I couldn’t recall my father’s face.
“This is a lonesome journey, Socket. In the end, you are on your own. But when you complete your realization, you’ll know you were never alone.”
“You mean if I make it.”
“No, I mean when.”
“Father failed.”
“You are not your father.”
The rain came down harder. It was difficult to see across the field. The putty taste of the imitation raindrops was on my lips.
Mother placed her hand on top of my head. The bubble around her hand encompassed my head, repelling the rain. She ran her fingers over my face, wiped my brows.
I resisted the rising tide of warmth threatening to move my heart. She kept her hand on my neck so the rain would not fall on me.
Spindle entered the room. “It is time, Master Socket.”
My mother’s essence mingled through my mind, leaving fragrant traces of scintillating energy. She paused before she left but there was nothing left to say.
The alcove faded. Even the moisture evaporated from my hair. I stood in a plain white room. “We will go to a preparatory room for half an hour,” Spindle said. “Then you will enter the Realization Trial.”
I nodded.
His faceplate bristled with texture and color. “Your father once told me the Realization Trial is quite simple. He said there is nowhere to go. You are already here.”
“Then why’d he fail?”
“He said it was simple.” Spindle paused before exiting the room. “He did not say it was easy.”
The anteroom was larger than it needed to be. Ten servys hovered along the back and I faced a blank wall with Spindle by my side, waiting for the signal to enter. I could barely feel my body. No longer cold, I hummed. No emotions, no feeling, just hummmmmm. I did not fear, did not want. Whatever was beyond the wall, I would face it without prejudice or preconception.
Hummmmmm.
Nobody entered the room to wish me luck. No one called or sent a message of good will. For that, I was grateful.
The room was entirely motionless for thirty minutes. I breathed in, out. Did not move to scratch or ask for the time. It was just in. Out. And on the thirtieth minute, Spindle placed his hand on my shoulder.
“You have been summoned to enter the Realization Trial.”
His hand slid from me. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I will be waiting for you, upon your return,” Spindle said. “Master Socket.”
He emphasized my name, as if to remind me of something I forgot. I took another deep breath. When I was clear and focused, razor-sharp and deadly rapt, I stepped through the wall to the other side.
No going back now.
T R A I N I N G
hunting the predator
An arena.
The center was flat and bare. Circus-like. Seats so steep a man would tumble to the bottom if he fell forward.
There was no roof, but the illusion of the sky. It smelled like a transformable room. The staleness of filtered air confirmed it.
The seats were filled with hundreds of Paladins. And not just Paladins, bu
t the elite, highest commanders; the most powerful men and women in the world sat expressionless wearing dark uniforms, cleanly pressed and snugly fit with various bands of color depicting the origin of their facility.
None were projecting their presence; they were all there in the skin. All humans emitted an energy — an unmistakable essence — that many called an aura, but now I was seeing it around the Paladins like never before, blazing around them.
The floor was spongy, but the silence was so dense that my footsteps echoed. The closer I got to the center, the hotter the room became. Not a cough or a fidget, the silence was pristine.
My Commander was in the front row next to Chief Com, but there was no way to recognize his rank since they were all impeccably dressed the same, their expressions identical. Their thoughts were like the desert sun, pricking my cheeks. Sweat popped up along my forehead. I remained resolute. Still.
What do you want?
It was psychic heat. They were frying me like a bug. I closed my mind to deflect the pressure. I wouldn’t survive long if I didn’t. If they wanted to see how many punches I could take, then they had their man. I could take a beating.
My mind clanged like sheets of metal, warding off the psychic pressure that drilled through my pores. But the heat continued. I took a chance, closed my eyes for just a moment to refocus but my mind felt like an eggshell, fissures appearing like spider webs. Ice shatters.
Suddenly, a cold sensation washed over me, providing an instance of relief until I realized it was running down my back. Hahahahahahah. Pike’s laughter rumbled like thunder.
The floor shimmered. I took the chance of closing my eyes again, to draw on every bit of strength to solidify my mind, to build a wall. The laughter receded.
When I open my eyes, the Paladins are glowing like beacons. Energy beams from most of them in waves. But others almost look pale and lack the pulsing quality, almost like they are lifeless projections. Maybe they aren’t here in the skin.
Distractions.
A fleeting motion disrupts my focus. The already fraying fabric of my mind quickly begins to tear. The icy wave returns, along with Pike’s laughter. It echoes around the arena. And then another voice joins it. Chute’s calling.
Socket! Please, don’t go, she says. You said I wouldn’t forget you!
I’m sinking to my knees but my feet are still on the floor. The voices are still there. Pleading, calling, and laughing.
These are just hallucinations, I’m not really hearing anything. These aren’t real. Just focus.
“You will fail, Socket Greeny!”
I spin on my heels, sweat flicking off my face. Someone stands and shouts for real, then ducks out of sight. It’s a brown-skinned man, but now he’s gone, like he evaporated. All is still again. I wipe my chin with my sleeve. The fabric is searing.
Socket, don’t fight, Chute’s voice calls. Why do you always fight?
Yeah, Streeter chimes in. Just relax.
Chatter, chatter, chatter. Laughter. More voices. Two. Then ten. Mother. Pon. Spindle. Teachers, strangers, neighbors—
Socket, are you listening? Chute says above them all. I need you! Just come withmedon’tleavejust—
“SHUT UP!” I shouts.
Something scurries under the seats, Paladins shift like it’s tunneling beneath them. I run after it and point. “I see you! I see you up there!”
The Paladins don’t change their expressions. Some of them are still glowing in waves and others are dimmer. Darker.
I finger the evolvers on my belt and follow the gopher around the arena. I’m about to climb over the front row and into the seats to catch the bastard—
“Father?”
I wipe my eyes and look again. My father, he’s there, in the crowd, arms folded, staring with the rest of them. It’s him, but I’m sweating sheets. It’s hard to see, but now he looks like just another face in the crowd, just another Paladin.
“FAIL, SOCKET!”
The heckler is on the other side of the arena. I blink heavily, nearly tripping over my own feet. Someone stands up and slowly reveals his face. His skin is brown. Eyes almond-shaped.
Pon.
I’m trying to talk, but my lips are quivering. I manage to say something like, “I thought you…” And that’s it. Sweat is stinging my eyes and Pon is gone. I unleash the evolver and snap a handful of whips into the crowd, their bodies exploding in a cloud of white dust that settles like gravel.
“FAIL, SOCKET!”
Something thumps off my shoulder. A stone rolls across the floor. I activate an evolver shield.
“FAIL!”
Now they stand and shout, one at a time, chucking rocks. Each one utters the single word. FAIL. All with hatred, pulling stones from their pockets and hurling them. I drop to my knees to increase the shield’s power, but the stones are relentless, thudding like granite hail.
They’re all on their feet. All of them except the two in the front row.
I stand.
Walk to the edge. “Father?”
The arena falls silent. The last of the stones trickles past my feet. He’s sitting solemn next to my mother. Arms crossed. His graying hair hangs over his ears and he has a week’s worth of whiskers. His eyes are set in wrinkled pockets.
“Do you see the predator?” he asks.
“I don’t understand.” My hand reaches slowly, like it doesn’t belong to me. I just want to touch his face, feel the leathery cheek, make sure it’s really him. I’ll know if I touch him. If I sense his musky essence, feel his security, then I’ll know for sure.
My hand moves through an eternity of space, and as my fingers brush his chin, he dissolves. The seat’s empty.
“WHERE ARE YOU?”
I stumble back to the center, stones rolling under my heels. I fall, catching the jagged edge of a rock with my mouth. Blood spots the floor. I pull myself up. I pull myself.
Up.
Pon is standing there. His eyes are black and empty.
Pike’s laughter roars.
It’s the predator you don’t see…
I reach for an evolver, but the atmosphere is too thick. I watch Pon lift his hand.
I cannot move. I cannot—
It’s Pon. It feels like my father. But it’s Pon. His hand swings in slow motion.
My father. He was my Paladin.
Pon’s finger lightly touches my forehead with the smacking metal-on-metal sound of a three-pound hammer on a steel plate.
“Journey deeper,” he says, “into the night.”
And night comes.
Night stays.
T R A I N I N G
reflections
Downtown.
I don’t know how I got here. I don’t care.
The market is vacant. Even the vendors’ tables are gone. Not a person anywhere.
The street lights cast a yellowish glow on the littered streets. My breath is thick and white but I don’t feel cold. I don’t feel anything.
A stoplight clicks from red to green. My footsteps echo. Inside the five-star corner restaurant, menus are propped on the tables and the napkins neatly folded, but no one is sitting at them. A television above the bar flashes highlights of a tagghet game.
Around the corner, a neon sign splashes electric red light on a fat man on a bar stool. He’s staring at me. I go over, the sign going bzzz-zzzz.
“He’s up there.” The fat man points at the door below the flickering sign.
“Who?”
“You know.”
“Pon?”
He doesn’t answer, just thumbs at the door. I check the evolvers on my belt. Fat man doesn’t seem concerned that I’m armed. I stop at the peeling red door.
Bzzz-zzzz. Bz.
The door opens on its own. I walk up the creaking steps, the walls covered with graffiti. Ice shatters, one blurb reads. Seems like I’ve heard that before.
Another behemoth at the top of the steps, the heels of his boots wedged on the bar stool. He jerks his head at the
crystal-knobbed door behind him. The door thumps, rhythmically.
“In there,” he says.
“Who?” The word puffs out of my mouth.
He does the same jerky motion with his head.
A black fog rolls in through the door at the bottom of the steps. It stops, but continues to swirl, the tendrils twisting and curling and waiting like it’s just cleaning up behind me. No hurry, take your time.
The man sees the cloud, too. “Too late, now.”
I wrap my hand around the angular doorknob. It jiggles with a pounding bass, vibrating in my palm, sending a tickling line through the tendons in my wrist.
Music bursts from inside in loud synthesized dance beats, vibrating deep in my chest. Dssssszth-dssssszth-boom. Over and over. The black cloud roils on the top step behind me.
The club looks the same, but the crowd is different. They’re younger, packed together with their hands in the air, hopping to the mad, driving beat. The bartender stands with his arms crossed, the vivid red light illuminating his white shirt. He jerks his head towards the crowd and mouths the words over there. I don’t hear anything over the drowning beat.
The crowd notices me, one at a time, as the rumor of my arrival spreads. They’re expecting me. It doesn’t slow them down, but they’re looking. I know them. A girl leans over and shouts, “Come on!” It’s Carmen, from my eighth grade history class. I had a crush on her, but she moved to California. She’s waving at me, like she wants me to join the party.
Dssssszth-dssssszth-boom.
One person isn’t dancing. I see the top of the brown head ducking behind the ocean waves of the dance floor. Without breaking stride, the crowd parts. Pon has his arms locked behind his back. His expression is hard. So many times I’d seen that look push me harder, challenge me, tell me time was precious and it was running out. But this time the look mingles with something else, something that shouldn’t be there. It’s a smirk, one that belongs to someone else. It belongs to a traitor. Pike.
Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga Page 35
