The Training of Socket Greeny by Tony Bertauski

Author:Tony Bertauski [Bertauski, Tony]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science Fiction, YA, ya young adult scifi
ISBN: 9780982845226
Publisher: Bertauski
Published: 2010-09-21T00:00:00+00:00

T R A I N I N G

Judgment day

There wasn’t a lot of talking.

Streeter sat in the passenger seat. His fingers twittered on his leg like his hand was trying to run away. In the window’s reflection, his eyes didn’t look at anything in particular.

It was stop-and-go traffic until we reached downtown’s historic marketplace, a long narrow building that extended for blocks, where vendors peddled t-shirts, fragrance and sweetgrass baskets to cash-heavy tourists. I found parking halfway down the market in front of an outdoor café, the exact one Chute and I were destined for a week earlier. Streeter sat quietly. Fingers running.

“You sure you want to do this?” I asked.

He nodded, got out.

“Stay here.” I turned to Spindle in the back seat. “Pull the hood tight and don’t move. Stay vigilant. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Master Socket.”

I locked the car. Streeter was fidgeting on the curb. “You know where we’re going?”

“There’s a moody club around the corner. The virtualmode den is in the back.”

“We’re not old enough.”

He held the disc between his fingers. “We are now.”

Streeter led the way. We worked our way around tourists gawking through windows and licking gigantic ice cream cones. We got to the end of the market and turned the corner where bars and restaurants lined the street, the doors open to the sidewalk.

A five-star hotel was on the corner. Nothing but suits and dresses sat in the first floor restaurant with padded menus that didn’t have prices. Next door, techno music thumped where singles got their freak on. Sandwiched in-between the five-star restaurant and techno bar was a door with peeling red paint. A barrel-shaped man sat on a stool in front of this door.

Streeter held out the disc. It took the man a moment to even see him. He scrunched his face like he was about to tell him to beat it until he saw the disc. He looked twice, thought about smacking Streeter for the hell of it, then pressed the disc into the palm of his glove. He handed it back and simply nodded.

Above the red door, in small, old-school neon lights, was a sign. Judgment Day. Behind the door was a flight of stairs. Streeter took a hesitant step inside and I followed. The door slammed behind us, sealing out the traffic and music like a tomb. The stairwell smelled like 500 years of mold, made my head light as if memories of the building tried to get inside me. A single light bulb hung at the top of the steps. Someone had gouged Stairway to Heaven into the first step.

The walls were smeared with graffiti. Most were names immortalized with the tip of a knife or a Sharpie, or just statements of who loved who forever and ever. Then there was one that hit me. Paladins Feed on the World. And if that wasn’t clear enough, Paladins Suck Ass.

I wanted to put my fist through the wall. Without the Paladin Nation, the world would be dead.

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