The Making of Socket Greeny: A Science Fiction Saga

by Tony Bertauski

  The

  Making

  of

  SOCKET GREENY

  THE PREQUEL

  Tony Bertauski

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  Your true nature is a train.

  Either get on board or get run over.

  1.

  I am Socket Greeny.

  My story is a long one. An unbelievable one. It’s the sort of story that leaps from dreams or a bad trip. If you refuse to believe it, I can’t say I blame you.

  The details of my birth are confusing, something I won’t bore you with. I had two good parents until I was five. Dad died. After that, it was just Mom and me. Some folks felt sorry for me, but we all have to die.

  So I thought.

  I was pretty much a normal kid, except for the hair. Pure white, it was. The kind of white that falls on snowflakes. I didn’t know why it didn’t have color and really didn’t care. Other than that, I was just a normal kid growing up in a single-parent home.

  Until high school.

  I remember the day when things started to turn. I know everything about my life, of course, but that day I remember with great clarity. That was the day I felt big change coming. You know the feeling, when something big is about to happen?

  True nature was coming for me.

  >>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<

  It started after school, late autumn.

  It was unusually cold for South Carolina. I was lurking at the edge of the woods, standing beneath the shade of a live oak and blowing into my hands for warmth and watching these jocks bully a short, fat kid.

  There were three of them.

  They were under the bleachers, the same bleachers that in just a few months would be blown to pieces and my life would never be the same. They stood around the short, fat kid that was maybe half their height but equal their individual weight.

  Streeter. The poster child of lifelong gaming.

  The jocks lured him under the bleachers by pretending someone wanted to deal off some gear at a good price. Streeter—ever the sucker for virtualmode gear—bit hard.

  And I let him.

  Maybe I was bored, or maybe I wanted him to feel a little burn. He was a troublemaker. We all were, but Streeter was going to get us all killed one day. It wouldn’t be long before I was the one that brought trouble to the world. For now, Streeter was about to take a beating.

  “Hey!” I shouted.

  They all watched me approach with a rubberband in my mouth. I twisted my hair back and tied it off. It was hard to throw swings with hair in your eyes.

  “About time,” Streeter muttered. “You out for coffee?”

  “Oh, you got this?” I asked.

  “The white knight,” one of the jocks said.

  I didn’t know his name because I didn’t know any of their names. He was the shortest of the three with the biggest mouth. As jocks go, he was the worst, always thumping his chest and banging on geeks, kicking their chairs, calling them names. A third-degree asshole.

  I was looking forward to this.

  There were three of them, I realized that. But I was sixteen with a stack of chips on my shoulder and drunk on youth. I was up for the challenge.

  “Get on your way, toolbox,” the asshole said.

  “It’s Socket,” I said.

  “A name so stupid I don’t know whether to laugh or punch you in the face.”

  “Try both.”

  “Calm down, Drake,” Jack said.

  I knew Jack. He was head jock of football or baseball or bowling or something. He was also the one Streeter screwed over. Well, sort of. He screwed over his brother, Josh. And, technically, we both screwed him over.

  Mostly Streeter.

  “We don’t want trouble,” Jack said. “Just talking.”

  His left hand moved in calming gestures, but his right hand was still in his jacket. That worried me. Nobody kept one hand in their pocket when a fight was coming.

  “Then walk off,” I said.

  “As soon as Streeter makes things right,” Jack said, “we’re gone.”

  “How many times I got to tell you?” Streeter cupped his hands around his mouth. “I. DIDN’T. DO IT.”

  “You’re a terrible liar,” Jack said. “The proof is all over my brother’s account. Or what’s left of it.”

  “There’s nothing left of it,” Streeter smirked. “I mean, that’s what I heard.”

  “Just restore his account,” Jack said. “Bring back his sims, flush his virtual coffers and rebuild his worlds. We’re all square.”

  “How am I supposed to restore it? Someone wiped his sims and cleaned his data. You can’t just hit the undo on something like that. Besides, your brother deserved it.”

  “You can do it. You know you can.”

  Jack was right there. If anyone could restore data, it was Streeter. Whether he was the one who erased it or not.

  “I’m not a world builder,” Streeter lied. “And if I was, your brother lost it all in a fight, so why are you bent?”

  “Because you don’t fight fair,” Jack said.

  “Neither does your brother.”

  “He didn’t deserve to lose everything. He’s been building those accounts since he was five.”

  “Yeah, well, he did deserve it. He’s been snaking in the dark worlds and you know it. If he wasn’t trying to skim data off everyone, this probably wouldn’t have happened. You got to admit, Jack. Your brother’s kind of a dick.”

  “You’re going to do it.”

  “You can’t make me.” Streeter screwed up that froggy face of his and spit out laughter. “Your brother had it coming, Jack. Face it.”

  I think Jack would’ve blasted him one if I wasn’t there. Then again, Streeter wouldn’t have been so mouthy, either. Jack took a stroll to walk off the tension. His back was to us, his hand still in his pocket. I got the sense he was stalling. Or maybe listening to a call.

  “You’re a turd that lived,” Drake said. “Your mom should’ve flushed you.”

  “You guys always travel in packs?” I jumped in.

  “You want to make it one on one?” Drake said. “Let’s go, toolbox.”

  “Shut up a second,” I said. “Jack, what do you want to do? Streeter said he didn’t do it. We going to fight, or are we all just wasting our time?”

  I was ready to roll. Drake was, too. I could feel it. It was his body language or some energy-hipster vibe he was giving off. I could feel his thoughts like sound waves pulsing through the atmosphere.

  I didn’t realize how weird that was.

  If I had to take the three of them, I figured a swift kick to Drake’s thigh would buckle him long enough to throw a bomb at the third jock, whatever his name was. Jack would come at me then, and I’d have to tackle him. At that point, they’d all probably pound me. Wasn’t a great plan, but I’d get my licks.

  That was what I loved about the skin.

  Virtualmode environments and live-action simulated reality could never replace the vibrancy of skin and bone. My life was a mess, my family a wreck, and school a drag. I lived for a little excitement.

  Like this.

  Jack tapped his cheek. His back was still to us. I figured he was ignoring me. Drake and I were about to trade swings when I heard him answer a nojakk call—the miniature communication chip imbedded near his jaw.

  “You got it?” he asked. “You’re sure? Positive?”

  There was a pause.
Something just went down. Or was about to.

  “All right. Good.” Jack’s hand finally came out of his pocket.

  For a moment I thought for sure it was a weapon. Maybe he skipped a groove and was about to go mental. It didn’t make any sense, but it wasn’t impossible. This would be the first day in a long line of many that I would learn that lesson.

  Nothing is impossible.

  I calculated every possible reaction. Could we run or hide? Use one of the jocks as a shield? Call for help? There were a hundred other scenarios, but I couldn’t figure them out in the span of a second. If I only had more time.

  And then the air smudged.

  That was the best way I could describe it. The space behind Jack sort of wrinkled from heat. Something was there and then it was gone. It felt like something was hiding in plain sight, no other way to describe it.

  Jack tossed something at Streeter. “Done.”

  It was a phone. A black, rectangular phone. Not a weapon, not a threat, just an old smartphone. Streeter stared like he’d just been handed a broken vial of radioactive waste. He tapped the screen.

  Looked up.

  “Don’t say you didn’t deserve it,” Jack said with a smile. “Believe me, it’ll get worse.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Streeter stared. The phone had sucked the life out of him.

  “What the hell just happened?”

  “Come on,” Jack said to the others.

  “Hey! Hey!” I moved quickly, intending to snatch Jack’s sleeve and spin him around, get up in his face. The battle was over and I didn’t even see it happen. We weren’t going down without a fight.

  Drake intercepted me.

  I knew he would. He was coiled up, a trigger ready to unload. My quick little grab was all it took. In a court of battle, he would be found guilty of throwing the first swing.

  I was just defending myself.

  He threw a wild roundhouse, one of those angry swings that was as primitive as it was savage. Instead of ducking, I moved into it. My shoulder took the brunt of his forearm, but before he could adjust his weight, I heel-kicked his calf and pushed him backwards, landing on him with all my weight.

  The air whooshed from his lungs like a fat man falling on a beanbag. Wheezy breaths whistled in his throat. I was in full mount with the intention of putting an elbow on his jaw and crushing his nojakk seed—

  “Stop it!” It was a female voice, a voice I knew well.

  Someone I didn’t expect to find us.

  It was enough to give me pause, enough for Jack to drag me off. There she was, red hair bouncing as she sprinted across the field.

  Chute.

  Behind her was the assistant coach wearing athletic shorts despite the brisk autumn air. Drake was on his knees, air finally reaching his lungs. I’d been in that position many times, hangdogging on all fours with a string of drool reaching the ground after someone got the best of me. Not a fun place to be.

  But alive.

  “The hell?” the coach said, slightly winded. “Damn it, Drake. Get up. What the hell you doing, son?”

  He didn’t ask me. Didn’t even look at me. Chute, on the other hand, stared lasers through my head. I stared them right back and silently mouthed, You brought a coach?

  Jack explained it was a misunderstanding, and it was all straightened out. Nothing happened, despite how it looked.

  “Tell that to Drake,” I muttered. He was picking grass off his lip. It was an asshole thing for me to say, but despite what Jack said, we didn’t start it. Jack’s brother messed with Streeter and he got what he deserved. And now Streeter was staring at a phone like it was scrambled eggs, and I never got to finish what I started, so I was feeling a little dickish.

  Sue me.

  “Get the hell out of here.” The coach smacked Drake in the back of the head. “I catch you around these people again, you’ll stay after practice.”

  These people. He was talking about Streeter and me. It took everything I had not to unload a dick comment on him. Would’ve got me a detention or suspended or something, but sometimes it was worth it.

  Jack didn’t look back, didn’t gloat or smile.

  He was probably a good guy, just standing up for his brother. Couldn’t blame him for what he was doing. Somehow he beat Streeter. Whatever was on that phone wiped him out. Otherwise he wouldn’t be standing there glassy-eyed and unblinking, he’d be spouting all the asshole thoughts I was holding back.

  Oh no, coach. We have to stay after practice? We don’t get to play in the game? Say it isn’t so, coach. Please don’t tell me I can’t flex my chiseled abs.

  “You brought the coach?” I said.

  “I didn’t bring the police, so relax,” Chute said.

  “You brought the coach?” I repeated.

  “Look, this is stupid. They were going to beat the lights out of you. What’d you want me to do, sit in the bleachers and cheer?”

  “It’d be cool if you let me handle it.”

  “Yeah, we’re not cavemen, Socket. There are other ways.”

  “There were three of them, Chute. They weren’t asking Streeter to the dance.”

  “And what were you going to do, karate chop them into submission? They’d get you back. This is the skin, Socket. There’s no respawn, no starting over. You break a bone and it hurts. This is all so stupid and you know it.”

  “Look, I didn’t start this.”

  “Really?”

  “How’d you find out, anyway?”

  “I heard,” she said.

  Yeah, she heard. A lot of things like that happened in my life. Maybe they happened to everyone, those moments where something could go horribly wrong and then it doesn’t. Some people talk about guardian angels like some benevolent beings watching over them, guiding them away from potholes and down the right path. I just didn’t believe in that. Not destiny or divine intervention or magic spells. None of it.

  But sometimes, I had to admit, something was steering.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Chute asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  I explained what Jack said before throwing him the phone. We asked what was on the phone, what this was all about, and Streeter just stared. Finally, he looked up with defeat in his eyes, the color drained from fleshy cheeks.

  “For dumbasses,” he said, “this is genius.”

  He held up the phone.

  It made no sense. Then again, Chute and I didn’t understand half the gearhead nonsense that drove the virtualmode Internet. Streeter was our captain in all matters of alternate reality.

  “What?” I asked.

  He explained in technological jargon, the equivalent to explaining calculus to an infant. I could probably understand it if I cared, but I just wanted the bottom line.

  “Hey,” Chute said, “in English.”

  “They wiped out my account,” he said. And he said it, believe it or not, with a smile. Like what just happened didn’t blow up his life, everything he worked for. Just like what we did to Jack’s brother.

  “This whole thing here, this confrontation like they were going to beat my ass, was just a decoy. This thing kept my alarms from going off”—he held up the phone—“while someone totally whitewashed my account.”

  “Who is someone?” I asked.

  “Who do you think?”

  Jack’s brother, Josh, I figured. That was who called on the nojakk, who confirmed the deal was done. It was that or a virtualmode hitman. That family had more money than a corrupt government.

  “Why you smiling?” I asked.

  “Well, because they’re still dumbasses. They think they took all my credits and stole all my sims, but those were just my side accounts. I mean, come on, my real stuff is under enough encryption that that idiot couldn’t get to it with a team of superheroes.”

  “You sure?” I asked.

  I asked because nothing was unhackable. Streeter told me that all the time. In the world of virtualmode cyberspace, n
othing was untouchable. We were all vulnerable. And none of us knew just how vulnerable we were. Not even Streeter.

  We were all about to learn that lesson.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Streeter said. “Now let’s go have some fun.”

  “Where?” Chute said.

  Streeter walked backwards. “It’s on, Chute.”

  “Oh my God. Are you serious?”

  “You’re not my mom.”

  “I’m the voice of reason.”

  “What?” He put his hand to his ear. “I… I can’t hear you. The wind is blowing.”

  “This is stupid,” she said.

  “Did you just meet him?” I asked. “This is what he does. He lives for this stuff. Finally, a formidable foe.” I imitated his scratchy voice.

  “You’re not much better,” she said.

  “I didn’t start the fight, Chute.”

  “I just finish them.” She imitated me.

  I hooked my finger around hers, nuzzling into her hair. I loved the way she smelled. Streeter had already marched halfway across the field; he wouldn’t see us. He didn’t know we were hooking up. Best friends don’t do that, he would say.

  So on the down low, I put my arm around her. We followed from a distance. I could hear him muttering up ahead, talking out his thoughts, laying out his plans.

  Just beyond him, the air wrinkled.

  Something was steering.

  2.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Chute said.

  “Where?” I said.

  “Anywhere.”

  “What about Streeter?” He was inside the classroom, his gruff voice bargaining with Mr. Buxbee, the virtualmode instructor.

  “He can take care of himself,” Chute said. “He’s a big boy.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Chute leaned against the wall, bouncing her head on the bricks, her red hair a bit longer than mine. Thicker.

  “He’s going to find us trouble,” she said.

  “He’s a natural.”

  “We do this with him,” she said, hooking her finger around mine, “then we lie low for a while. Promise?”

  “Yeah.”