Socket 3 - The Legend of Socket Greeny Read online

  “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 meditation 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.”

  “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.

  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.

  “No.” She slowly got up and stood next to me at the railing. She was thousands of miles away, but I sensed her exhaustion as if she was right next to me. “California is aggressively pursuing a Paladin-sponsored education/conference center, but they need funding. It would be a great outreach for our integration program, but there’s a lot of opposition from the government. Lots of suspicion.”

  “Who can blame them?”

  “Yes, well, I need to convince them our policy of secrecy is a thing of the past and we’re genuinely interested in sharing our knowledge.”

  “They’re not buying it?”

  “They haven’t seen what we have to offer. Our advancements in health care alone will convince them.” She drank from a water bottle and
patted my hand. Her palm was warm and soft. “By the way, your Orphan program is doing quite well.”

  I hated that name, but the Displaced Youth Program wasn’t catching on.

  We talked about how many more kids we were planning to take on, how we could expand the program to the rest of the training facilities and, of course, get the word to the public on what a great job we were doing. I hated public relations, that was Mother’s job. Everything we did, she had to find a way to tell the public. Television even started carrying the Paladin Network, a twenty-four hour news station that exclusively covered us. She was a weekly regular.

  “I’m scheduled for my wormhole trip in about a week.”

  “Everyone does it,” she said. “You nervous?”

  “I’m not doing jumping-jacks.” I drummed a short rhythm on the railing, watching waves crash below.

  “I can’t do anything to get you out of it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Mother said.

  “No, that’s not it at all. I’m just wondering why I need to go. Clearly there’s a million things here I can be doing. I can’t imagine why I’d ever be sent off-planet, so what’s the point?”

  “You sound nervous.”

  I glanced at her. She was serious. Then I realized, she was right. I was resisting some nervous tension inside me. Why was I being like this? It was just a trip, get it over with and be done with it and move on. Stop being a baby. But even acknowledging that feeling didn’t make it go away.

  “Look, I’m not nervous,” I said, laughing nervously. “Okay, I’m nervous.”

  She laughed, too. I told her what I was feeling and she listened without responding. Maybe there was a good reason I was hesitant, I just didn’t understand it yet. My gut feelings were often on the mark.

  “I don’t know.” I spit over the railing and watched it disappear in the swirling wind. “Maybe it’s as simple as not wanting to go through that wormhole.”