The parking lot was mostly full. Must’ve been more people than the school expected because there was only one security guard and he was busy with an eighteen-wheeler that was obviously lost and now plugging up the parking lot.
I found a spot at the top of the visitor’s bleachers, upper left hand corner, right where Streeter was going to meet me. We talked the night before through nojakk. We didn’t say much. I couldn’t tell if he was pissed or sorry.
The benches were firm but slightly molded. This sport had money. The scoreboards had video screens bigger than they needed to be. The disposable programs had imbedded videos that explained the rules of tagghet and how they could get started on their own tagghet career. You-know-who had to be funding this through various businesses. They seemed to be fond of the sport. Or maybe it was their way of introducing technological advancements to the rest of us.
The oval field was empty. The seats were filling up and the anticipation to see flying discs was in everyone’s conversation. The little kids started jumping up and down on their seats when the scoreboard lit up. The first tagger rode onto the field to cheers from both sides of the field. He banked left and the person behind him went right. They alternated until the entire home team was on the field, the grass swooshing in their wake. Everyone was on their feet.
They formed a circle, riding clockwise, and slung a red tag back and forth. The lightweight sticks flexed with each one-handed toss, expertly fired across the rotating circle. The curved end of the stick had some sort of magnetic impulse that grabbed the tag. I couldn’t recognize anyone, except for the one with red braids dangling from under the tear-shaped helmet. Chute caught a pass on the short hop and tossed it to the far side of the circle with a sharp backhanded flip.
If I could reach out, I could feel her nervous energy. Taste its jagged frequency. Maybe I could help soothe her nerves, she was always nervous… but I couldn’t think that way.
* * * * *
The visiting team rode onto their end of the field and the people around me cheered. That’s when I noticed Streeter lumbering up the steps. He turned sideways and excused himself down to the empty space next to me. People were still standing around us.
He pulled a bag of popcorn from his jacket and filled his mouth. “Been here long?”
“Not long.”
He stuffed two more handfuls in his mouth, chewing loudly. We sat there and watched the field, but since everyone was standing there wasn’t much to see.
“So what’ve you been up to?” I asked.
“Been helping Buxbee with the security updates. Global virtualmode is back online but authorities aren’t letting independent portals open until updates are operational. There must be some shit going on.”
Serious shit.
“The updates are taking longer than I thought, but we’re almost done.” More popcorn fell on his lap than went in his mouth. “I’d ask what you’ve been doing,” he said, “but that didn’t work out so well last time.”
“Right,” I said. “Nothing personal.”
“Why would I take it personal? You wanted to punch me in the face.”
“I wish I could explain…”
“But you can’t.” He picked at a kernel stuck between his front teeth. “You know, I’ve been thinking. If you can’t tell me what’s going on, then it must be a big deal.”
I grunted. Half-laughed.
“And that one of these days, you’ll tell me everything.”
I’d tell him everything right there, on the spot. He would never know how much it was killing me to withhold from him. He was always the first to know my secrets. Streeter and Chute were the only ones that kept me from feeling all alone in the world. Sitting next to him with all those secrets, I didn’t want it that way. But when Life demands, you answer.
I held out my hand. “You’ll be the first one I tell.”
He smiled, his lips glistening with butter, and slapped my hand. Then I reached into the bag and grabbed a handful. Then we watched us some tagghet.
* * * * *
The teams huddled along the sidelines. They had their hands in the middle, chanting and jumping. Captains from each team met at center pitch. The coaches went with them. “Welcome to the soon-to-be-most-popular sport in the world… TAGGHET!” a voice rang across the field. “Where your Charleston Rapid Foxes take on the Columbia Bolters. Now, introducing the inaugural season please welcome, Coach King!”
Coach King was the lacrosse coach, too. He walked onto the field wearing his purple shorts and socks pulled up. He held up both hands and our players slapped them as he made his way to center pitch. He said something like: Great sport, some of the best talent you’ll ever see, we were going to win the state championship like we do in every other sport. And if anyone wanted to learn how to tag, training sessions were available.
“And now!” he shouted. “Your Rapid Foxes!”
The scoreboard projected an image of each tagger, live from the field, as he called their names. Some kept the yellow visor down, others retracted it into the helmet.
“And starting at left lancer, and the only female tagger to start varsity… Chute!”
Only he said Shhhoooooooooot.
It could’ve been my imagination, but it sounded like she got more cheers than anyone else. She was the only girl out there. Chute cruised in a small circle near center pitch mumbling. I couldn’t see her lips, but that’s what she does when she gets nervous.
“She almost quit, you know,” Streeter said.
“Quit what?”
“Tagghet. She was so worried after you left she couldn’t focus. Your mom told us you were all right, you were just having some medical tests, but after a month, Chute wasn’t herself. Your mom wasn’t coming home and we weren’t hearing anything at all. She was a wreck, said she was quitting.”
“Why would she quit?”
“She didn’t feel right having fun while you were…” He glanced at me. “While you were probably not having fun.”
I watched her floating in a tight circle with the stick yoked over her shoulders, muttering. I knew she was glad to see me come back, but we didn’t talk much about the time in-between.
“How was that going to help, I told her,” Streeter said. “I mean, you weren’t coming home any sooner if she sat at home and twisted her hair.” He fished the unpopped kernels from the bag. “You know what I mean?”
“So you talked her into staying?”
“She loves the game, Socket. It was just stupid to quit. Besides, she needed something to keep her mind off of you.”
“She never told me that.”
“Mmmm, imagine that, someone keeping a secret.”
I could see her taking deep breaths. Something was delaying the start. I wanted so badly to take away her discomfort, but all I could do was watch.
Finally, a lookit dangled the tag over center pitch. A player from each team squared off under it, shook hands. Not one person was sitting. It got loud. Numbers counted down on the scoreboard to zero.
The tag dropped.
The centers chopped at it. The Bolters pulled the tag away and set up an offensive formation on their side of the field while our team retreated. Chute hovered near their cube. The Bolters attacked and the Rapid Foxes looked confused, running into each other. The Bolters threaded a pass between the two defenders. Two passes later, one of them rode up the dome, caught a pass and rifled a shot into the scoring cube.
GOAL!
“That was easy,” I said.
Streeter didn’t hear me. I didn’t even hear me because the kid who scored was related to the lady in front of us. She curled her fingers and screamed his name like she’d been stabbed.
“The team is breaking up,” Streeter said.
“They just started, give them a chance.”
“I mean us.” He patted his chest. “You, me and Chute. Our team. We’re falling apart.”
I shook my head and watched the teams regroup. I didn’t know what he meant.
“It’s not a vacation, Streeter. Believe me, I wish I never left.”
It was the closest I came to telling him something. The clamp didn’t budge.
The teams squared off at center pitch again. This time the lookit dropped the tag to our team. Our center took it behind three blockers and set up a play. Chute flared out to the left.
Streeter wasn’t watching. He was thinking. I gently elbowed him, reminded him that he was the most popular virtualmoder at school. Reminded him he was globally ranked. I mean, the school trusted him to patch the security codes into the portal. I reminded him that he would never be alone, if that’s what he was thinking.
He nodded, but he wasn’t listening.
Our team lost the tag. The visiting crowd cheered.
“Remember when we were kids and you and Chute would come over?” Streeter said. “We’d enter Level V tournaments when we were Level I. Remember what we named our team?”
“Watchdogs,” I said. “And we got slaughtered.”
“You would spend the night and once my grandparents were asleep, we’d virtualmode to another tournament.”
“And get slaughtered again.”
“Remember the time we planted a data bomb in the principal’s account and froze it for a week?”
“You planted it.”
He looked up at the moon hanging just above the school. “I’m going to miss all that.”
The Bolters looked to score again but lost control of the tag. The visiting fans groaned.
“You’ll invent something and become filthy rich,” I said. “Maybe Chute will become a professional tagger. It doesn’t matter, none of that changes the team, Streeter. We’re the original Watchdogs.”
“What about you?” he asked. “What’re you going to be doing?”
“I’m sure I’ll be around.” I might disappear, but I’ll be around.
Now I had the distant look. What if the clamp got removed and I returned to the Garrison for good. What would Mom tell them then? He went on vacation. Forever.
“She’s open.” Streeter jerked my sweatshirt.
Chute slipped past the defensive line. Her teammate had the tag. He got around a defender, darted to the sideline and zipped a sharp pass across the center pitch. Chute caught it fully extended.
We stood on our seats.
Chute lost her balance for a moment and a defender intercepted her on the way to the dome. Chute leaned heavily to the left, pulled the jetter almost on its side to stop. She juked left. Right. The defender lunged after the tag dangling from the end of her stick. Chute spun, got behind him. Her stick flexed to the limit and the tag came off like a bullet, just a blur that straight-lined into the center of the green cube.
GOAL!
The home bleachers were about to come crashing down under the cheering stomps. Streeter and I were the only ones cheering on our side of the field. Chute’s face appeared on the scoreboard, strands of red hair plastered to her cheeks. She was mauled by her teammates.
For a moment, I forgot about the clamp. I forgot about the Paladins and the uncertainties and all the unanswered questions. I wanted to run down there and hug her. I wanted to drag Streeter with me and we’d squeeze her until her head popped off. I wanted it to be just another night in our lives, just like it was when we were Watchdogs.
“Socket?” Streeter said.
He tugged at the back of my sweatshirt. I was busy screaming Chute’s name through my hand-megaphone, hoping she’d hear me. I thought about nojakking her but there was no way she had it turned on.
“Socket!”
I shrugged my shoulder. It felt like he had his arm around me. “Dude, what are you doing?”
“What the hell is that?”
“What’s what?”
He looked at my opposite shoulder. He didn’t have his arm around me. A long red tail curled under my chin. Rudder poked his head around my hood, his golden eyes looking into mine. I quickly stuffed him inside my hoodie. No one but Streeter seemed to notice.
I looked around, completely suspicious, then pulled the collar out and whispered, “What’re you doing here?”
Rudder purred against my chest. Warmth radiated deep inside.
“Did I just see that?” Streeter said.
I sneaked a few glances around, then opened my sweatshirt for Streeter to look inside. It might’ve looked creepy, but no one was watching. I started to introduce them, but knew the clamp would start thumping. “Ummm… this is… one of the things I can’t talk about.”
Streeter stared. Rudder stared back. Blinked. Waved his little fingers. Streeter waved back. He looked like he was waving to a… well, waving to a little dragon in my sweatshirt. The lady in front of us turned around. I smiled back until she was uncomfortable enough to look away. Rudder crawled around my side, tickling my ribs up to my neck. I tried to grab him.
“What’s it doing?” Streeter said.
“I don’t know.”
I reached into my hood to pull him off, but he scampered up to the back of my neck, lay flat against the thin red line, and purred louder. The vibrations sank into the clamp. The ever present ache, low and dull, faded. I almost drooled. I bent over and hid my face. I think Streeter said something. The vibrations got stronger, warmer and deeper. Rudder suctioned tightly to my skin.
There was a sharp energy beside me. Clear and clean. Streeter. I’m feeling Streeter! I braced myself for the clamp to buck, but it lay still beneath Rudder. I opened my mind to the ebb and flow of the crowd’s collective energy. The joy and frustration, cheer and anger. The essence of hundreds of people mingled through me.
A scene unfolded in my mind. Mom went to the grimmet tree. Rudder came to her, as if he was waiting for her. The other grimmets sat on the branches and watched her walk off with him on her shoulder. She took him outside the Garrison. At the base of the cliff, she held him up.
“Free him,” she said.
Rudder shot from her hands, smudging the air red like a streaking star.
I opened my eyes. The game was still on. The air was thick. There was a charge in it, an unnatural tension, like the moments before lightning strikes.
[Pivot came to her.] Rudder’s thought was as clear as if he’d spoken it. [He told her to release you from the clamp.]
Pivot’s back? Is he all right? Do the Paladins know?
[He told her They are coming.]
Who?
[You must get your friend.]
Streeter?
[The girl.]
Who are They?!
He returned to working on the clamp. [You must hurry.]
It was nearly halftime. Chute was flying across the center pitch, her stick up high calling for the tag.
They were coming. That could mean only one thing. The duplicates were going to fight back.
No one would forget this night.
Arachnophobic
I could feel them. The duplicates were here, at the game. I stood up and looked over the crowd. I sniffed the air like a bloodhound. There was a scent, a feeling, but I couldn’t locate it. The clamp wasn’t completely deactivated; Rudder was still working. Faster. Go faster, Rudder.
“Sit down, clown,” someone said behind me.
Streeter stood next to me. “What’s going on?”
There were hundreds of people here. I sensed all their individual essences intermingle, how their emotions ebbed and flowed, what kind of thoughts they were having. Somewhere out there was a different flavor. Something that tasted plastic-like, something fake. Duplicated.
“Hey, the both of you,” someone shouted. “We can’t see the game.”
The lady in front of us turned around. It wasn’t her. I could feel her pulse quicken when I looked at, looked into her. I could taste her essence. The same for the people around us. Even the guy that was standing up and reaching over a row to snatch my hood to get my a
ttention. He was real.
I pushed Streeter to the side and we forced our way to the isle without waiting for people to move. One guy told us to get some fucking manners. I stopped on the steps. The fake feeling was stronger. Streeter was apologizing behind me when I saw it. The eighteen-wheel truck was still in the parking lot. It was rocking side to side. Something was getting ready to escape.
I took the steps three at a time. “STOP! GET EVERYONE OUT OF THE BLEACHERS!”
No one could hear me except the people around me that figured another high school kid lost the battle with drugs. I leaped off the bottom step and crashed on the track that circled the field, then I jumped the fence onto the soft grass. I sprinted onto the field, waving my arms. “CLEAR OUT THE BLEACHERS!” I screamed at the home crowd.
Whistles were blowing. Assistant coaches were already after me. The taggers slowed down to watch the madman sprint over center field. I kept ahead of my pursuit, made it to the other sidelines, leaping over the other fence. I could hear them laughing. The security guard was nowhere to be found. Every lookit was on my tail beaming their eyelight at me but they weren’t going to do shit.
I made it around the home bleachers and no one was listening, but people got out of my way. There were half a dozen men after me, some of them fans just trying to keep the crazy off the field.
“EVACUATE THE BLEACHERS!”
The parking lot was fifty yards away. The truck was going side to side so violently that the tires were lifting off the ground. People were taking notice and I felt a shift in mood. Some already were moving in the other direction. But I couldn’t stop. I had to let them all see where I was going. They all had to see that something was about to happen.
A man appeared in front me. Just appeared. His clothes snug and dark blue. Another two men blipped into existence next to him, their hair cut tight. Their expressions hard. Paladins.
Socket 1 - The Discovery of Socket Greeny Page 14