Free Socket 2 - The Training of Socket Greeny by Tony Bertauski Page A

trusted. Still, none of them could compare to Pike. In the
past, two of them could subdue him. Now he broke them like
toys.
    “Pon was only supposed to be secondary
support,” she said. “He’s in charge of the move, now. I doubt he’ll
be back to the Garrison until next week, so, you see, there’s no
point in you coming back. Your trainer’s busy.”
    “When are they going to just kill Pike?”
    “That’s not Paladin policy.”
    “How many people have to die to change it?
Three minders are dead, you know; and they wouldn’t be if we just
got rid of him. Three lives for one, the math doesn’t work.”
    She rinsed the cup, placed it upside down in
the sink. She stared out the window. “Sometimes it’s hard to know
the right thing.”
    “Yeah, well the right thing is to get rid of
his ass. It might stink, but that doesn’t make it wrong.”
    She dried her hands, then pushed my hair off
my face and looked at me. She’d been doing that more often, lately.
Like she knew something. If she did, she didn’t let on. Or maybe
that was what happiness looked like on her.
    “You’ll be home for dinner?” I asked.
    “I’ll be later than that. Why don’t you make
dinner for Chute?”
    “Believe it not, I was kind of thinking that.
But, you know.”
    “You know what? Don’t be wishy-washy, make
some food. She’s not going to care what it tastes like. I’m leaving
the car, so go to the store.”
    I walked her to the door. A black sedan
stopped at the curb. The driver’s door opened. There was no one
inside, having driven from the Garrison on auto-pilot. She dropped
her briefcase in and waved goodbye.

    I went to the front porch and propped my feet
on the banister. Fragrant tea olives were in early bloom. I noticed
things like that now, like the density of humidity, the clarity of
the sky, the taste of fresh juice. Since training began, my senses
continued to open. New experiences presented themselves everywhere;
even the simple things like subtle scents or textures were
exciting. It seemed lame to say it like that, but the world was
everywhere. I just needed to see.
    A school bus squealed around the corner. The
passengers stared through the dirty windows like zombies. Some days
I wished I could be sitting on a school bus again, mindlessly
carted off to school where I could whittle the day away. At least
boredom didn’t kill you. But then again, sometimes it felt like
it.
    Streeter wasn’t on the bus. Maybe I didn’t
see him, or maybe he drove his grandparents’ car. I had a feeling
it was none of the above.
    “Locate Streeter,” I said, touching my cheek.
My nojakk linked up with Streeter’s and calculated his
location.
    “ Streeter is currently at 724 West Market,
Charleston, South Carolina . ”
    A house call was in order.
     
     
     
Gates of the Dead
     
    The white house was thirty feet from the
road. The shades were drawn. The driveway was empty. Streeter’s
grandparents never parked in the garage because there wasn’t room.
It was strictly storage. They never threw anything away and I’d dug
through that mess with Streeter a thousand times looking for a
plate or lamp his grandmother just knew she’d put in there.
    I stepped onto the front porch, past the
wicker chairs and potted ficus trees, stopped at the door and
listened. Nothing stirred inside. Maybe my nojakk was wrong and he
wasn’t there, or maybe he was just late for school and missed the
bus. Maybe his grandparents took him. So why am I
tip-toeing? Because the energy around the house was foreboding,
like a ghost was in the attic.
    I knocked. It echoed inside. Knocked,
again.
    There was a key under the ficus. It had been
there since I was five. I could use it, but it would be hard to
explain if his grandma came home and, on the chance Streeter wasn’t
home, I’d be wandering around inside.
    The small surveillance eye, about the size of
a marble, was still above the door. The surface swirled. It was
still working. Something wasn’t