Socket 2 - The Training of Socket Greeny Read Online Free PDF Page A

his
tickets over his head like confetti. A three-dimensional hologram
glittered on the stub, a picture of a storm flashing over the
ocean. The seats were good ones, center pitch, third row. A kid in
front of me sucked Coke from a straw, wearing a plastic tagghet
helmet with retractable yellow-tinted visor. The Charleston Squall
logo flashed on the sides. He held the cup with both hands, staring
at me.
    “What’s going on?” I asked the kid.
    He yanked his dad’s sleeve. His father
continued shouting obscenities through his hands. The kid yanked
again. The father finally looked down. The kid pointed at me.
    “They oversold the goddamn game,” the father
said.
    “But you got tickets.”
    “There’s a bunch of counterfeit tickets
floating around. The fire marshal closed the gates. Guess who got
screwed?”
    “But they’re your seats, just have them check
the stubs.”
    “What the hell you think I’m trying to do
here, kid?”
    He turned back to shouting. People started
throwing things. Soda cans bounced off the wall over the gates. Not
long after that, the metal gates clanged shut. More trash went
flying. A cold sensation drained down my neck, followed by garbled
sounds, voices that didn’t make sense. It quickly turned into a
brain-freeze. Suddenly, I was cold again.
    Haagloppllls-sssaaaa-sssss-HHHEESGAWTTA!
     
    “You all right?” The little kid slurped his
drink.
    I was on my knee, head cradled in my hands.
The sensation went from cold to hot. And I couldn’t remember
stepping back and getting on one knee.
    Why is this happening?
    “You want a drink?” the kid asked.
    “How about an ice cube?”
    The kid popped the lid off and fished out a
handful.
    “Thanks,” I said. My hands were shaking.
    The crowd dispersed, but only to the parking
lot where they threw more trash at the gates. Security pushed them
further out. Sweeper mechs hovered out of holes in the stadium
walls like mechanical mice, sucking debris into their snouts.
    “ Where are you?” Chute’s voice chimed
on my nojakk.
    I got far away from the entrance and
explained the deal.
    “ I’m coming out.”
    “You should stay,” I said, half-hearted. “You
don’t need to miss the game.”
    “ We’ll be out in a few minutes.”
    She was coming out. Streeter, too. They would
miss the game for me. That’s what I wanted to hear.
     
    I went over to the grassy park area to the
right of the main entrance and sat at one of the picnic tables,
massaging the cold sensation that lingered in my neck. The cold
fits were getting worse, and now there were voices talking through
a watery veil. It wasn’t like I was picking up thoughts from
by-standers, it was more like energy swelling up inside me.
Something wanted out.
    Pon can’t know about this.
    Unexplained experiences weren’t good. It
meant instability. The Paladin Nation did not look kindly on the
unpredictable and unreliable. I already had Pon breathing up my
ass, I didn’t need to tell him I was broken . It had to be
the tension. The night off would help. Seeing Chute, too.
    A cup rattled. The kid was standing next to
me, holding out the cup of ice. I took it. Thanks.
    His father called him over. The kid stood
there, staring at me. I motioned to his father, standing out on the
curb. “You better go.”
    The kid ran and took his father’s hand,
looking back as they headed out to the parking lot. He waved and
staggered along, trying to keep up with his father’s long steps,
trying to see what was behind him. The world was so big and fast at
that age, it was hard to see everything. My father always walked
fast, too.
    I sucked on the ice. Didn’t care how grubby
that kid’s hands were or how many boogers he had caked under his
fingernails, the cold felt good. I tapped out the last cube stuck
to the bottom, crumpled the empty cup and tossed it to a passing
sweeper. The blinds were drawn on the ticket windows.
    I was about to tap my cheek to nojakk Chute
when a gate opened and a group of kids