“Can’t sleep?” a voice sang.
The chair was now occupied with a frail, bald man. His glasses were black, meant only to cover the white sightless eyes beneath, for the benefit of others.
“You should try warm milk,” he said. “Dip some cookies in it, the ones with the creamy filling. They’ll hit your stomach like a bomb, blow you into the next morning.” He folded his legs. “At least, that’s what they tell me.”
Three hairless men appeared behind the chair, wearing black glasses. They were blind minders, as well, seeing with psychic vision instead of eyes, but they were no friends of the one in the chair. They stared at the man now pretending to dip cookies into a glass on his lap.
“You’re dismissed.” I waved at the three minders. “This exchange will be private.”
The one in the middle said, “Request denied. Pike is to be kept under continual surveillance.”
Constant surveillance? Pike was hardly a threat. After years of imprisonment and minder pressure, the fabric of his mind had been stretched and frayed, his thoughts and motivations splayed open like a butchered pig. His brain struggled to function and what few thoughts he had were hardly coherent. There was no need for three minders to contain his mind, hardly a need for one.
But he’d fooled us all before.
They resumed their focus on the man now double dipping imaginary cookies, shoving them in his mouth. “Uu unt sum?”
“At least back up,” I said. “Give us some space.”
The minders considered my request. Ignored it. Pike cowered under the intensified psychic heat that restricted the expansion of his mind. He looked over his shoulder like he just got slapped with a ruler.
“I call them Mo, Larry and Curly, you know. Larry’s on the left and Mo’s in the middle because he’s the boss. And that’s Curly there.” Right shoulder. “I used to call him Shemp because he’s not funny.” A very serious look stretched over his face. “But Curly’s my favorite. So, you know.”
His favorite episode was The Three Stooges Meet Frankenstein. I knew that because he told me. And now he was going through it, scene by scene, and quickly seemed oblivious to me, as if telling the story to himself.
I walked closer to Pike’s image and began to sit slowly, allowing the room to form a chair below me. It was wider than the one that confined Pike. I sat forward, resting my chin on my knuckles, allowing my mind to surround and penetrate Pike’s mind. Even though he was just an image in front of me, something constructed by the room, it was projecting his presence from a secure location. It was no different than if he was sitting right there in front of me, laughing about the way Mo hammered Larry and Curly. His essence still flowed through the image, much like a voice travels through a phone. I could follow it with my mind, all the way back to the prison cell he shared with a rotation of minder guards.
Is there something the minders aren’t seeing? It would be impossible for him to hide anything, but he’d done it before. He couldn’t escape one of these minders. And three? Impossible.
I needed to see for myself, just to see if there was something they were missing. While he ranted about Mo’s comic genius, I penetrated his mind like vapor. His thoughts were so disjointed, randomly appearing in a mix of memories and delusions, separated by basic impulses of hunger and sleep, that if he could escape he wouldn’t know what to do in the free world.
His energy was jagged and broken, no longer the cohesive mindfield that he once was, no longer resembling the treacherous mind he used to deceive the Paladin Nation. A mind that could kill with a thought or hide secrets of betrayal. A mind that once tried to kill me. In his prime, it took a dozen minders to contain him. Now, he drooled on himself. But predators often lure their victims with deceit. Good traps never look like traps.
“What are you looking for?” Pike asked.
He caught me peeking, distracted by my own thoughts.
“No need to search far and wide for my thoughts. No need to be sneaky, it’s open season on Pike, everyone’s taking a turn. Why shouldn’t you?” He pointed to the crown of his head. “You can look, but I’m afraid you’re a little late, the cupboards are bare.”
There were no dark corners left in Pike. No thought left unearth and analyzed. I retracted my mind and sat back.
“Don’t like what you see, then? You’re all powerful, the next coming of the world’s savior. Right? Right? What are you doing, wonderboy, looking inside old Pike? Do you think there’s a single thought these savages haven’t raped? There’s something left of me? I assure you there is not. I’m sure you already knew that.” He turned his head slightly, awareness returning sharply, not so childlike. “So what are you looking for, wonderboy? Really.”
“Tell me something,” I said, “why did you betray the Paladin Nation?”
“Booooring.” He rattled off a long raspberry. “Whatever your real inquiry is, just look inside again, will you? Take a peek and see why I despise humanity. Go on, wonderboy, have a look. Have-have a look, won’t you?” He punched the side of his head. “HAVE A GODDAMN LOOK!”
Spittle drooled over his lower lip. He leaned forward and the heat of the minders filled the room. Pike was yanked back into the chair by invisible restraints. His chest heaved, laughter gurgled in his throat, coming out in short bursts. He threw his mouth open, laughing silently.
To see a mind unravel was dreadful, but Pike was not worthy of pity. He betrayed humanity, tried to sell us to the artificially intelligent race of duplicated humans. He betrayed all those that trusted him and almost destroyed us. And for that, his mind deserved to be unwound and dissected. For that, he could not be allowed to go free.
The vision returned to me; the lighthouse swinging its beam around, projecting the details for all minds to see. I clamped my mind down, snuffed it out but not before Pike caught a glimpse.
He took a sharp breath. “You had a vision? Oh, you are a bad boy. A bad-bad boy, wonderboy. A bad, wonder boy you are, coming here to tell old Pike about a vision. The bosses are going to be pissed that you came here, yes they are.”
Sloppy work, Socket.
“You had a vision about old Pike, didn’t you, wonderboy. Didn’t you? Oh, yes, I believe, I believe you did. You did, you saw me and you come here to see what old Pike would think about it.” He twisted around and winked at Larry, then Curly, gave Mo the okie-dokie. “He had a vision about me, boys, you hear that? Good old Pike, gone but not forgotten.”
Pike’s location was undisclosed. Only a few knew where he was imprisoned. He could be in a cell a thousand feet below ground, or in a satellite circling the planet. With constant minder presence creating psychic static, I couldn’t ascertain his location but, whatever the circumstances, no one could escape the Paladin Nation. Not even Pike on his best day. Still, I needed to know… is he hiding anything?
Pike bounced in the chair. “Let’s play a game. A game, a game. A guessing game, what’d you say, wonderboy? A game, shall we?”
He looked at the ceiling, thinking hard, really trying to find the answer floating somewhere above him. Would it matter if I told him? No vision was guaranteed, there were so many variables.
“You saw something in the future,” Pike said, “about me, I think. Do I get fat, is that it? I hardly get exercise in this chair. I complained to the warden but no one listens to old Pike, say that’s what you get for betraying your species, or something like that, I don’t know. Or I get relocated again, to another cell. You know, I like this one. I think it’s the color. Brown just works. They turned it pink once and I didn’t like that one bit, wonderboy. I started shitting myself and Mo don’t like cleaning grown man underwear so they changed it back. You don’t mess with old Pike’s cell— Wait, I know.” His smile was wide, the gums bright red. “I kill your girlfriend.”
He projected a thought and had I not been open and looking through his mind while he rambled, it never would’ve reached me. His thought was harmless, but clear to see. It was Chute, her sweaty hair stuck to her f
orehead. Pike had a knife to her neck. I squashed the thought.
Pike drummed his fingers across his pouting lip. “It’ll hurt when I kill her, wonderboy. It’ll hurt-hurt pretty bad, I think. And just imagine how your heart will feel after I strangle her, you know. How I lean over and suck the last breath from her lips.” He inhaled, deeply, and closed his eyes. “It’ll probably taste like cherry lip gloss. Your hearts will hhhhrr… it’ll hurrrr….” He licked his lips. The smile died. “Hurt forever. Wonderboy.”
I punched out with telekinetic force and his image rippled in the gale force of raw energy as it travelled through the image and found his body somewhere in the universe. I slid my mind inside him like a cold shank. He clenched his teeth like 120 volts shot up his ass.
“HOOO! What a grip!” He shook his head like a wet dog. Pain was better than nothing at all. “But tell me something, won-wonderboy? How am I going to kill your girlfriend if I’m in here—” He covered his mouth with both hands. Held his breath. “Don’t tell me…”
I only blinked, but it was enough. He saw more of the vision than I thought. He was fucking with me.
“Are you joking? You’re here to tell me…” He was bouncing again. “That I’m going to… escape?” He sang the last word like a little girl, the last syllable squeaky. “ESCAPE?”
I didn’t budge, move or think. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the details, wouldn’t let him see more of the vision that revealed him wearing street clothes and smiling at the sun. I didn’t want him to see that no one paid attention to the curious man until they got near him and his dangerous mind; how he projected a mere thought to tear a little girl from her parents. How he shoved her into traffic. Tires screeched. Someone screamed.
“Tell me, how do I do it?” he asked. “Oh, please. Tell me.”
“It won’t happen, Pike.”
“You saw it, huh? Show me, right? Show me how it happens.” He clapped his hands. “Please, pretty p-p-pleeeeeeease. I got to know, I just got to know.”
I stood. The chair collapsed into the floor. “I’ll alert the Commander of what I’ve seen. I promise, you’ll not escape.”
“Yes, but you could tell me just one thing?” He looked around the ceiling, again, entertaining the possibilities. “Do you know about wheeeen it might happen? I mean, I’m not saying it wiiiiill, but just in case. You know, I need to clear my calendar.”
“Be advised.” I projected the vision to the minders. Mo nodded. Received.
“Do I kill you, wonderboy? When I get out, do I kill you? That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
“As long as I live, you will not walk free.”
“Perhaps you should ask good master Pivot about that.” He cocked his head. “Or is he still AWOL?”
Pivot. The greatest Paladin to ever live. My personal mentor. One that could see the future. One that disappeared over a year ago. I could still sense his presence, some days it was stronger than others. He was always around. I could feel him watching. I never thought much about the fact that he never showed himself, just secure that he hadn’t disappeared entirely.
“Good old papa Pivot doesn’t talk much these days, would you say?” Pike said. “Tell me, what’s it like to be abandoned by someone you love? I’ll bet it stings, like maybe it was your fault.” He leaned forward and sniffed. “Maybe it’s, you know… you.”
“He’s around.”
“He is?” He looked in both directions. “Is he in the room right now? This second? Like an imaginary friend?” His laughter was high-pitched and much too loud. Cut right through me. “Poor wonderboy. All alone in the world. That’s why he comes to see good ole Pike, he does. Lonely.” He tipped his head back to the minders. “That’s why he’s here boys.”
“You’re broken, Pike. You deserve worse.”
“Do you trust him, wonderboy? Do you trust papa Pivot?”
“He’s the reason you’re here.”
“Yes, well all good things come to a screeching halt, they say. Just ask your vision, wonderboy.” His tongue pushed through a smile. “Listen, you come to old Pike when you have your next vision.” He dipped his head, let me glimpse the white eyeballs behind the black glasses. “I’m here to help, wonderboy.”
He said it sincerely. He was a master of keeping an opponent off-balance. Nothing he said could be trusted.
The color faded from the walls. The images of the minders shrank. Pike melted into the floor. “Be sure to call my secretary,” he said, his voice fading. “She can squeeze you in...”
I left the dark room, more disturbed than ever.
L E G E N D
Discards
I sat cross-legged in a field of manicured turf, breathing rhythmically in meditation. It had been weeks since the vision of Pike’s escape and, still, it was with me. Most visions faded with time, but this one remained in full detail. Like a siren that refused to stop. I noticed my thoughts about it and returned to the present moment, listening to the birds sing.
Six kids sat cross-legged in front of me on firm, round pillows. Their eyes were closed and hands gently folded in front of their bellies. They tried to ignore the pain in their knees, sitting like concrete figures, holding steady, their breath coming and going. But they heard the birds. Dawn was near.
Sitting was almost over.
Their minds were in various states, some open, some scattered. The girls – Madeline, Aleshia and Grace – were mostly calm, but the boys were somewhere else. Joseph was dreaming, Dylan half-asleep and then there was Ben hating everything. His eyelids were cracked open, watching me.
They could leave the Garrison any time they wanted. But if they stayed, they had to commit to the daily schedule and that included food and a warm, dry place to sleep and a tropical forest. But there was also meditation practice, physical training and emotional therapy. The price for all these pleasures was but a gift itself: Understanding. I wanted to show them what they already possessed: essential wonder and unlimited freedom.
“I want you to return to this moment.” I unfolded my legs, let the aches fade from my knees. “Allow the moment to be present. Allow space for your entire experience, whether it’s excitement, resistance, love or hate. Allow space for whatever is in this very moment and be with it. Recognize thoughts about it. Notice if you want it to be different.”
The dewy grass slid between my toes. I stepped quietly behind them, gently straightening their sagging backs.
“Just notice what you think and return to your bodily sensations. Allow the present moment to unfold.”
Excitement vibrated around them. The best part of meditation was the end. They listened, remained sitting and present, but there was more exuberance than usual. Even Ben was grinning. They all cracked open their eyes, looking behind me.
The trees were far away, their canopies dense and dark. But even so, I could see the bright colored grimmets crawling along the branches, scurrying to get away without being seen. The little dragony creatures – no bigger than hummingbirds – were probably hovering behind me making faces or holding their tails up behind my head like horns to make the kids laugh. My frustration shot like sparks, rustling the leaves like a rogue gust of wind.
Grimmets.
They were psychic titans, each one of them with more mental strength than the entire human population. They defeated the duplicates, the entire population, several months ago without any hint of resurrection. I was the conduit for their power, for I understood. I saw life clearly. The One Who Sees Clearly, they called me. Through me, the grimmets called to all duplicated life forms on the planet, instructed them to deactivate and they did.
And now the grimmets were bored. And when the kids were around, they were insufferable.
“Socket?” Ben asked. “Ummm…”
Sigh. “Dismissed.”
They jumped and ran, pulling at each other as they raced for the opposite end of the oval, grassy field. I let loose an ear-splitting whistle. They turned while running. I pointed at the me
ditation cushions tumbled in disarray. They fought, laughing along the way, and swept up the cushions to put them away. Every part of the schedule was their responsibility.
Ben fell down and rubbed his numb leg. Feeling came back slowly to his calf, and when it did, pins and needles tortured his nerves. “Why do we have to sit so damn long?”
No one gave Ben much of a chance. His father died when he was little and his mother was addicted to prescription drugs and mood-altering gear, anything that would make her feel good, escape the emptiness inside, until she mixed too many pills and never woke up. Ben landed in a children’s home, like the rest of them, only he ran away. He was resistant, a fighter, but I saw something in him. And he trusted what I saw. That’s all I asked.
When the pain ebbed, he hobbled after the others. They were already leaping onto the jetter discs nestled in the grass at the opposite end of the field that hovered off the ground once their feet locked in place. They scooped up sticks that were curved at the ends and flew across the field, the jetters tilting a few inches off the ground, responding to their thoughts for direction and speed.
The tagghet field was in the middle of the Preserve, a tropical jungle carved out of the mountain and protected from the elements by an invisible forcefield overhead. It was like a 5.2 square mile conservatory and the kids’ very own playground. A place I thought of as home.
I walked to the edge of the field, where the trees met the turf, where a silver android awaited. His long plum-colored overcoat hung to his ankles. Colors flashed across his featureless faceplate, a bright red eyelight following the kids across the tagghet field. He held out a breakfast bar and a bottle of water.
“How was your morning meditation?” he asked.
I chewed the breakfast bar and observed the kids weaving expertly around each other. “Aleshia is ready to begin sitting every morning. I’d like to keep the others sitting twice a week, at least for another month.”
Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga Page 42
