Socket 2 - The Training of Socket Greeny

by Tony Bertauski

“Home?” Spindle’s face lit up. “Out in public?”

  “I was referring to the locker room but, sure, if you can get permission.” He won’t.

  The shower rained from the ceiling, running over my shoulders, over the bruises and scars and cuts. Spindle stood around the corner, still talking. He used to stand in the shower with me but that had to stop. He wasn’t human, but still.

  “Trainer Pon wants to remind you that your Realization Trial is only a month away.” His voice was muffled. “He would like you to take your training more seriously.”

  I stuck my head out. “I’m sorry, what’d you just say?”

  “Your Realization Trial is only a month away.”

  “No, the other part.”

  “To take your training more seriously?”

  I stepped out. Water puddle around my feet. Spindle’s eyelight spun away. I was about to say something. Take my training seriously was Pon’s little jab to remind me that I’m not done training. He just wanted to see if I’d react to the criticism; a lesson for the road. Don’t react. Always respond.

  I went back to the shower and rinsed my hair. “Tell him I’ll be here in the morning.”

  “Very well.”

  Spindle continued with his list of things-to-do while steam filled the shower room and water trickled into the drain. I imagined I was in a cloud where no one could find me. Inside the Garrison training facility, someone was always watching. Always judging. Sometimes I just wanted to be normal. Nothing about living inside a mountainous facility was normal. I didn’t choose this life, it chose me. Still, I needed to get away from it or I’d go insane. If Pon didn’t kill me first.

  I called the water off. Warm air filtered through the room. Spindle’s arm appeared from around the corner with a towel. I wrapped it around my waist.

  “May I ask what your plans are tonight?” he asked.

  “The Charleston Squall tagghet season is opening tonight.”

  “They have already established a professional team?”

  “It’s minor league.”

  “And will you be meeting Master Streeter?”

  “Yep.”

  “Your girlfriend, Master Chute, she will be present, as well?”

  Girlfriend. I sat in front of my closet and wrapped my hair back. My stomach fluttered. Spindle asked about them every day. Wasn’t sure if he missed them or he just sympathized. He knew how much they meant to me. It wasn’t easy being in the present moment when she was so far away.

  I pulled on my shorts and reached into the closet. Black pants, white shirt and a tie were on a hanger.

  “What’s this?”

  “I assumed you would like to look nice for your friends, so I took the liberty of having dress clothes sent up.”

  I ran my fingers down the tie, couldn’t remember if I had ever wore one. Wouldn’t even know how to knot one. There was no way I was going to blend into the crowd. And in public, the number one rule was to blend in, don’t make attention. Be invisible.

  “Thanks, Spindle,” I said. “You have great taste, but could you have a servy bring up jeans and a black t-shirt?”

  “Certainly, Master Socket.”

  I let go of the tie, noticing the scars criss-crossing my arms. “Could you also have a long-sleeve button down shirt sent up, too?”

  “It is 85-degrees in Charleston, South Carolina.”

  “I’ll leave it unbuttoned.”

  A large, spherical servy floated into the room holding a stack of clothes in elastic arms emerging from its otherwise generic body. Its eyelight rotated around its cue ball form and fixed on me.

  The clothes felt good. Normal. It had been a long time since I felt cotton. Most of the time, it was sweat-wicking armorcloth that resisted impact like metal. I saw myself in the mirror and pulled my hair back then brushed the front of my shirt and tugged the sleeves down. I was more nervous about going home than facing a faceless flame throwing agent of death.

  “You look wonderful.” Spindle fussed with my collar, smoothing out wrinkles and pushing stray hair off my face. He stepped back, looked at my left side then my right. He tugged on my shirt, wiped my sleeve—

  “I’m not going to prom, Spindle.”

  “Yes, well, you want to look your best.” He stepped back for one last look, his faceplate was very bright. “You are due for a short meeting with the Commander before you leave.”

  “Ooooh, that.” I actually thought maybe he’d forget that, not that he ever forgot anything.

  “It will not take long.” Spindle clasped his hands together. “And before you go to South Carolina, may I remind you of public policy?”

  “Blend in, I know.”

  “As a cadet, you are not allowed to use your abilities in public.”

  “Unless I have to.”

  Spindle’s face appeared muddled with color. “I do not believe that is part of the policy, Master Socket.”

  “It should be.”

  “Also be aware that you may contact me for assistance at any time.”

  Assistance? Spindle was virtually connected with my vital signs. At all times, he knew my pulse, my blood pressure, if I was asleep or if I was taking a shit. It was a lifeline. If the signal faded he would assume there was trouble and come for me so there was no need to call for assistance. He knew all this, but he still wanted me to know I could call.

  He followed me to the leaper. “You are driving?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  “May I remind you of the driving policy?”

  “You may not.” I stepped into the leaper and left him in the locker room. Spindle’s voice faded quickly.

  Chilled

  I stopped by my mother’s office just to see her. The thoughts of her gagging on her spurting jugular were still vivid. Even though it was just an image composed of clayey, cellular nanomechs, it wasn’t easy to forget. So I looked in on her, confirmed she was alive and breathing, even looked at her neck. I’d sleep better.

  I went to the platform, a half circle that jutted out from a cliff wall without a railing. It was high above the tropical forest of the manmade Preserve, a private jungle carved from the isolated mountains of the Garrison. We weren’t on any map, nor were we accessible to the public by automobile, helicopter or mountain climber. I knew we were nowhere near a tropical climate, that’s why the Preserve was enclosed with an invisible ceiling that covered the entire 5.2 square miles. From the platform’s vantage point, I could see to the other side where it was enclosed with a similar cliff, and in between it was all trees. And below the trees there were trails and streams and creatures from all over the world and, in some cases, other planets.

  An enormous tree stood out in the middle, different from all the rest because it was barren of leaves. Its monstrous limbs were like arthritic fingers reaching for the sky, and on those limbs were the off-world grimmets: small bat-like dragony creatures no bigger than a sparrow with tails as long as a possum’s. It would be impossible to see them from the platform, but the grimmets pulsated with color. Some were burnt orange, others were sunshine yellow, or plum purple, or jet black. Like a living rainbow.

  Maybe I wouldn’t notice them on the tree if I couldn’t feel them. The grimmets were playful, they would laugh at anything. They were also powerful, and we shared a special bond. Our energies gyrated like time and space didn’t exist. They knew when I was sad, tired, or bored; similar to the lifeline I had with Spindle.

  That tree was where I met Pivot for the first time. It had been over a year since I’d seen him sitting at the base of the grimmet tree but it seemed like yesterday. Long sandy hair, native tan, and dead eyes. He was physically blind, but he saw better with his mind than anyone saw with eyes. Sometimes, I wondered if he was even human. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be here. He saved me when I first arrived at the Garrison. He showed me a purpose to the Paladin life that, quite frankly, I wasn’t all jazzed up about. It wasn’t anything he said, it was just the way he felt. His presence. No words needed.<
br />
  But Pivot wasn’t around anymore. He left, and no one knew where. Sometimes I felt his presence, that sense of security, like a warm blanket. Occasionally, I’d turn around and catch a glimpse of something and swear it was him, but it never materialized into anything real. Pivot was such a psychic master that he could be right in front of you and make you believe he wasn’t there. Suppose he was doing the same thing to me. Maybe he was from another planet like the grimmets.

  “Ah, there he is.” Commander Diggs, a hard-faced man with short-clipped gray hair, stepped onto the platform.

  I turned at attention. Another high ranking official walked with the Commander, along with two escorts. They wore similar uniforms with a horizontal red stripe above the right breast that signified their training facility. I hated all the military bullshit, the saluting and ranking and arrogance that sometimes came with it, but I went with the flow. To run a society this powerful, there had to be order.

  The Commander squeezed my shoulder, his smile creasing his leathery complexion. “Cadet Socket,” he said, gruffly, “this is Chief Commander.”

  “Chief Com,” I said.

  He nodded slowly, as if to say at ease but not really. His hair was short and his nose flat. His eyes were especially relaxed. His mind tingled around me, feeling my psychic structure like a dog sniffing another dog’s ass. I tensed, but remained open. Closing down to someone of his status was considered an insult. But to remain fully open wasn’t good, either. Always be ready.

  Chief Com stepped slowly forward while the others remained still. His escorts looked more like assassins, their eyes barely slits and their mouths equally grim. Chief Com closed in on my personal space. My heels caught the edge of the platform and a magnetic field pushed back.

  “How are you, cadet?” His voice was hypnotic, pleasantly reverberant.

  “Doing well, Chief Com.”

  “You may address me as Com.”

  “Com.” I nodded, respectfully.

  “Are you familiar with me?”

  Com, overseer of the Paladin Nation’s most successful training facility. More cadets graduated under his tutelage than all the other facilities combined. If the math was done right, he was responsible for nearly a third of the Paladins in population today. Without Com, duplicated humans would be crawling all over the planet like cockroaches.

  He stayed close to me and applied a bit more psychic pressure. I stiffened this time. He was testing me now, seeing how I’d react to standing at the edge of the platform while being prodded. He’d heard about me, now he just wanted a taste of what I was made of. A cold chill that poured down my neck during training started again. Shit!

  This time I saw things. Images appeared.

  I saw weapons flash.

  Pon’s sweaty face, bruised and bloody. His body lying still.

  A drip of sweat ran down my cheek. I clenched my fists, fingernails digging into my palms, and beat back the chilly sensation and the images it brought. And then it was gone.

  Com didn’t seem to notice I checked out for a second. He stepped back, satisfied, and cupped his hands behind his back. “Your preliminary training scores are exceptional, cadet. I was touring your facilities and, while I haven’t had a chance to speak with your trainer, you appear more than ready for your Realization Trial.”

  I hesitated. “I feel prepared.”

  It was my standard answer. Look confident. Sound it, too. But it wasn’t an honest answer. Prepared for what?

  Com turned his shoulders slightly, sensing tension ripple around me. “What is your question, cadet?”

  No hiding it, now. It was nearly impossible to hide any thought from a guy like that. So how’d he miss those chilly images?

  “I would be able to answer your question with greater confidence,” I said, “if I knew what the Realization Trial was about. Pon hasn’t given me any objectives. I don’t know if I’m swimming across an ocean or jumping out of a spaceship. Tell me what exactly I’m training to do and I believe I can answer you more truthfully.”

  Com laughed, heartily, and the Commander smiled. The two assassins had yet to blink. “Yes,” Com said, “the Realization Trial is frustrating. Let’s just say Pon will have you ready for whatever comes your way, yes?”

  I nodded, frustration clenching inside me.

  “Another question?” he said.

  I was doing a horrible job of controlling my thoughts. I minced them quietly, considering if I was pushing too much. My frustration was too visible. He would only tolerate it so long. Enough is enough, control your mind, cadet. But these were my thoughts and, to be honest, I already knew the answers. In fact, the question was ludicrous. I didn’t want to say it out loud, so I just allowed the thoughts to crystallize for him to see my doubts.

  [Why are we training so hard? We haven’t seen or heard of a duplicate in a year. They’ve been conquered. Shouldn’t we be doing something besides preparing for a non-existent war?]

  Like I said, I already knew the answers. Intelligence suggested that duplicates would have a backup plan, that they would blend into the population until they were ready to strike. After all, they were undetectable. One could be standing right in front of you and you wouldn’t know the difference, even if you cut its head off. It’s the predator you don’t see that you should worry about.

  Thank you, Pon.

  Com saw my question. He also saw the answer in my mind. There was no reason, but instead he said, “Keep your enemies closer than your allies, cadet. That way you always know what they’re doing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He stared a bit longer, judging my stance, my psychic arrangement, my physical conditioning. No need for conversation when you can look directly at one’s soul. It cuts out all the words and personal agenda.

  “I am anticipating record attendance at your Realization Trial.” He leaned closer. His breath puffed in my eyes. “I will be present along with every commander in the Paladin Nation.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  “I have commended your Commander for bringing a prodigy such as you to the great Paladin Nation. It is efforts like his that will make this world a better place.” A subtle tension vibrated in the air like electrical currents. He was hiding something. Perhaps it was bitterness or contempt. After all, he wasn’t accustomed to travelling outside his facility to see star pupils. They came to him, not the Commander. This was a first.

  But the energy around us felt tight, almost menacing. I did not adjust my stance, did not want to appear aggressive or tip them off, but instead took notice of the space between us, estimated the range of motion and possible responses to an attack.

  “I would argue that you could not find a better Commander,” I said.

  “High praise, indeed.” Half-smile for me. Half-smile for the Commander. “Very well, then. I will not take up more of your time. I understand you have been given leave for the evening and I sense you’re anxious.” He nodded, said in a lower tone, “We expect great things from you, cadet.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  My heels were still on the edge; I shifted my balance to the front of my feet.

  Com started for the exit, the Commander beside him. The escorts turned, their motions fluid. The one on the left, his eyes were down but they cheated a glance back at me. Their momentum kept them turning, their arms falling toward their belts and in tandem they unleashed their evolvers. They spun on their inside heels, pushing their weapon hand at me. Bluish spikes shot forth and space crackled as they sliced time.

  But I was ready. I gripped the metaphorical time spark I felt in my belly and stopped time along with them, leaving Com and the Commander standing still in normal time. I ignited the evolvers around my hands and deftly parried the tips of their blunt spikes that would knock the wind out of me for a week. Fortunately, they did not counterattack. I was at a woeful disadvantage with my back to the ledge. They retracted their weapons and stood back at attention.

  We returned to normal time, where Com
and the Commander took another step and turned. I deactivated the weapons and placed them on my belt.

  “Well done, Commander,” Com said. Half-smile. “Yes.”

  The assassins followed them through the exit.

  I took a minute to allow my heartbeat to return to normal before doing the same.

  Normal Night Out

  The servys watched me idle the black sedan across the garage and through the illusion of a solid wall into the outside world.

  The sun was falling below the trees on the far side of the boulder-strewn field. Behind me, the Garrison’s rusty cliffs soared hundreds of feet like a sentinel watching over the world. I stopped the car and let the remains of daylight fall on my face. The breeze rushed through open windows with scents of bending grass and fallen leaves.

  The wheels thumped on the underside of the chassis, folding into the wheel wells and the anti-gravity boosters whined into action, keeping the car afloat. The car bobbed slightly off the ground. I twisted the steering wheel, then stomped the accelerator.

  The car shot forward and the force threw my head into the seat. The rocky terrain raced under the car. I tapped the stereo and selected Bongo Monday’s latest hit, Parade on Me. The bass thumped in my chest. The Garrison cliffs receded in the rearview screen.

  “To review public policy,” the car’s feminine voice said, “there is no use of anti-gravity boosters off the Garrison’s premise. There is no—”

  I turned the music up until my eardrums throbbed and turned the wheel until the car tilted on its side, carving the air in a deep right turn. Lookits, the small silver balls used world-wide for surveillance, tried to keep up, their eyelights watching, reporting back to the Garrison. I yanked the car left and soared to the other side. I’d flown these cars hundreds of times in the simulated training rooms, but there was nothing like the real thing. Besides, simulations didn’t have music systems.

  I reached the end of the field and slowed onto a barren road that entered the dense forest. I tapped the music down.