Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga (57 page)

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.”

“You should be aware that Grace is stealing
food from the others.”

Of course, Grace was stealing. I knew her
memories, experienced them when we sat. Like the others, she was
considered
damaged.
She ran from her memories, distracting
herself with thoughts and desires and fears. Most normal people did
that sort of thing, but no one could blame Grace. Her foster
parents did unconscionable things to her. Mostly it was beatings,
but some were sexual, the sorts of things that destroyed people,
left gaping emotional holes that could never be filled.

But Grace was resilient. She had a lot of
work to do. I wouldn’t recommend meditation for a person like that,
especially not that young. But she was different. All these kids
were different. They didn’t just endure; they were highly evolved,
possessing an innate, genetic disposition for learning and
transformation. I know, because I hand-picked them.

After the duplicates were defeated, the
Paladin Nation needed direction. I launched the Orphan program.
Ironic, I suppose, that the whole existence of the Paladins was to
defeat an enemy that were like orphans. Duplicates had no maternal
parents, considered themselves free and independent of the
psychological problems that hampered humans. But the duplicates
were programs, no matter how efficient they were, they could not
be,
could not transform and grow. Unlike the duplicates, the
children could rise above their handicap.

I wanted to reach out to the human race,
integrate the Paladin Nation into society, help people understand
themselves. Understanding wasn’t just a right of the Paladins, it
was a human right. So why not start with society’s most
underprivileged. That didn’t mean people would want the
understanding we offered. Many people possessed a lot of
psychological difficulties. Could they overcome them? We couldn’t
make them. So I selected the ones I sensed would.

“I would like Grace to join group therapy on
Wednesday,” I said. “I don’t want to separate her from her peers,
though. She needs additional support from some like-minded children
with similar experiences. Empathy will go a long way for her. I’ll
be leading the group session. I also want to schedule Ben for
individual counseling.” I took a swallow of water. “I’ll be leading
that, too.”

“But you are not approved to counsel the
children, Master Socket.”

They were on the other side of the field,
but Ben spun around and looked at us, as if to make sure we were
still there.

“He needs trust, Spindle. He trusts me.”

“Do you have a suggestion on how to get
permission?”

“Don’t call it counseling. Just schedule him
to chat with me for an hour. Let’s start a week from now, on
Friday.”

“But you are leaving that morning.”

The trip. I conveniently forgot. One of
those things I was told I would be doing. All Paladins must make at
least one trip through the intergalactic wormhole network. For the
experience, I guess. My work was here, right now. I didn’t need to
see what sort of research was being done on planet Krypton or what
alternative fuel was being mined from an asteroid
.

Sorry, I’m busy
, I wanted to say. But
I already knew the Commander’s answer.
No, you’re not.

Sunlight had crossed the sky, stretching
long shadows over the field. Some of the grimmets emerged from
hiding, fluttering over the kids, swarming so thickly they nearly
buried them. Aleshia bounced the discus-shaped tag off the ground
and the grimmets chased after it, then mauled Joseph when he
snagged it with the magnetic curved end of his stick.

A red grimmet was in the trees behind me.
Rudder
. I could
see
all around me with my mind, feel
the negative space between objects and
know
the essential
spirit of all things, building an image of what things
looked
like in my mind. But I didn’t need all that to see
Rudder, he was different. I felt him, like a part of me that moved
separately in the world. We had bonded when he brought me back from
death and a part of me stayed with him. And part of him with me. He
dropped onto my shoulder and wrapped his whip-like tail around my
neck, purring.

[I told them not to do it,]
he
thought to me.
[I knew you’d be angry.]

“I see. And you weren’t with them?” I peered
over at him, his golden eyes blinking. “That wasn’t you, the red
grimmet out front, sticking your tongue out to get the biggest
laugh? That wasn’t you?”

His eyes darted back and forth. A thought
began to form in my head, in response to what I said, and then he
shot off to join his pack in a chase for the tag.

“You need to do something about the
grimmets, Spindle,” I said. “They were very disruptive this
morning.”

“Me?” Spindle put his hand to his chest.
“They will not listen to me, Master Socket. They only listen to
you.”

“Well, then, we’re screwed.”

The kids zoomed around the perimeter and
came up our side. They held out their hands as they passed and I
slapped them. Around the field they went again, a colorful cloud of
grimmets nipping at their butts.

“Has my mother called?” I asked.

“She left a message that she will call in
two days. She is very busy with Congress today and tomorrow.” A
smattering of dark colors blotted Spindle’s faceplate. “The
Commander is not pleased you met with Pike this morning without
prior consent.”

“I figured he wouldn’t be thrilled.”

“He would like to remind you that
premonitory visions are to be immediately reported.”

“He has a full report.”

“He would like to emphasize
immediately.
He also forbids future meetings with Pike
without his foreknowledge. The Commander is very reluctant—”

“I know how the Commander feels, Spindle.
Trust me, there’s no danger. Pike can no longer hurt me anymore
than you.”

Fact is, could anyone? I was the only
telekinetic alive. I was almost seventeen, but I was not a child. I
didn’t like being treated like one.

The kids were coming around, again, this
time with an empty jetter in tow. They pulled Spindle onto the
field. The grimmets hovered over, cheering, casting a dark shadow
over us, blotting out the rising sun. They helped shove Spindle on
the empty jetter. Spindle’s eyelight circled around his head. I
nodded. He was off with the kids, tossing the tag back and
forth.

I turned my back on the tagghet field to go
inside Garrison Mountain, back to my office, wishing I had two
lives. That way, I might make a difference.

L E G E N D

Just another tourist

It was two days before I got back to the
tagghet field. I was in the office the entire time, building mock
scenarios, analyzing programs, having meetings by projection. My
meals were brought to me and I’d experienced forty different
countries through the office’s magical transformations when, in
reality, I never left the room.

The kids were begging me to come watch them;
even Spindle suggested I take some time to come out, they were much
improved. So I got outside and immediately felt the difference
between fresh air and filtered air. Besides, the molding office had
a certain taste, something that was fake and empty that penetrated
every object and hung beneath every fragrance. I watched and
clapped and slapped their hands as they showed off their best
tagghet skills.

I took the long way back to the office,
inside the mountain and down a wide hallway that curved left. Tall,
rectangular windows were along the right spotting the floor with
stretched boxes of sunlight on the floor. All of this stuff was
new, an attempt to transform Garrison Mountain from a dreary tomb
to something open and inviting.

I gazed at the wide boulder-field below that
separated the mountain and the transportation wormhole on the far
side, connecting our remote existence to the rest of the world. It
used to be impossible terrain to cross, unless you had something
that could hover. But now there was a road that dipped and curved
through the giant rubble.

Girls in school uniforms, chattering in
Japanese, came around the hallway bend. Their teachers tried to
keep them together like shepherds. John Tackleton, their tour
guide, was trying to keep up. He was a civilian, recruited a few
months earlier to lead public tours through the Garrison.

Not only did the public have access to the
Paladin facilities, they used the wormhole to transport back and
forth from around the world. In fact, there were discussions about
opening wormholes for public transportation, but that wasn’t easy.
To tear a hole in space-time required an enormous amount of psychic
energy. Much of the Paladins’ efforts went to just maintaining our
own network. It would be decades before something could be done for
the public. But the talks were in the works, and that had never
even been considered before. Much like field trips.

The children ran to the windows, their shiny
black hair bouncing. They ran around me like I was nothing more
than a pillar. They pointed across the field and shouted about the
wormhole. That was their favorite part of the trip, so far: one
second they were in Tokyo and next they were here. And the weird
feeling in their stomachs when they crossed over was like the
world’s tallest roller coaster ride that lasted all of a second.
Wormhole transportation was never that fun, but we changed that,
too. They said this in Japanese, but I understood. The words may be
different, but thoughts and emotions were universal.

They ran for the steps and out of sight, on
their way to the Preserve where they would forget all about the
wormhole. The tour guide would tell them about all the great
research the Paladin Nation was conducting in the Preserve and all
the species of plants and animals it supported. Those kids wouldn’t
hear a thing once the grimmets arrived.

Word about the grimmets had spread across
the world. The tours came to learn about the inner workings of the
Paladin Nation, but it was the grimmets they came to see. Monkeys
and otters couldn’t compete with grimmets on their best day. In
public, they’d already manufactured stuffed grimmets with wiry
tails that kids hung from their book bags. They came in all
different colors and people lined up to buy the newest release.
Collect them all!

My footsteps dented the pliable floor of my
office and the walls swirled with color, shifting and molding
shapes from the floor and ceiling. A bed developed at my right and
an entertainment center to the left. A large patio formed with
folding doors thrown wide open. A cool, salty breeze blew
inside.

My mother lay on the lounger on the balcony
overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Her snores came in mild waves. I
gently touched the railing. The resort was built right on the
northern California cliffs, overhanging the tide that crashed on
ship-eating rocks.

“Socket.” Mother wiped the corner of her
mouth. “I didn’t know you’d arrived.”

“Nice place.”

She pushed her cropped hair behind her ear
where it didn’t stay. The same haircut she always had, but now with
kinky strands of gray. She took a deep breath and stretched. “The
view is fantastic.”

We remained quiet, listening to the ocean
speak. We did that often, just sit together without speaking.

“I see you’re taking leave in a few days,”
she said.

“Chute’s award ceremony.” I looked over my
shoulder. “She’s Tagghet’s Most Valuable Player, you know.”

“Streeter going to be there?”

“He better be. Chute will skin him if he’s
not.”

“I just thought with his new girlfriend, he
might get… distracted.”

Streeter found new love, a girl just as
smart but twice as pretty. He should just propose now.

“You’re coming back to the Garrison
tomorrow?” I asked.