Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [20]
Apparently, in Denyabe’s case, the crowd had decided to be charitable. The android heard nothing but accolades.
Nor did their optimism go unrewarded. On the very first pitch Denyabe drove a ball between the shortstop and the third baseman. It bounced twice before it reached the outfielder, and by that time Denyabe had reached first base.
It was, as Data had learned earlier, a single—a promising development, though one that did not necessarily result in a score. That would depend on the success of the batters who followed.
The next man in the lineup was Sakahara, the Icebreaker catcher. He walked with a slight limp, and his left wrist was taped—reflecting injuries that had hampered his performance of late and contributed to the team’s decline. Or so the android gathered from his conversations with the clubhouse man and others.
“If Sakahara gets some hits, we win.” That had been Cordoban’s opinion, expressed as they watched the catcher take batting practice. “He goes hitless, we lose. It’s that simple.”
With that in mind, the android was intent on Sakahara’s performance. Apparently, so was the opposing team; as the first pitch was delivered, the infielders participated in a complicated maneuver that had the first and third basemen approaching the batter rather precipitously—with little regard, it appeared, for their safety.
A second later Data saw the reason for the move—as Sakahara squared around to bunt. However, after the ball hit his bat, it plunked down in foul territory.
“Stee-rike!” called the umpire.
On the next pitch, the fielders shifted again, and again Sakahara failed to bunt effectively. This time, in fact, he missed the ball entirely.
“Stee-rike two!”
The crowd responded by hooting volubly. It was an unpleasant sound. For Sakahara it must have been even more so.
On the third pitch he was not expected to bunt. As Data had learned, one did not bunt with two strikes. If the ball went foul, it would mean the end of the batter’s opportunity to score runs for his team—at least until it was his turn again to bat.
This time the infielders remained at their positions. No one charged toward home plate.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, Sakahara bunted down the third base line—a fair ball. Limp and all, he raced toward first base while Denyabe headed for second.
Caught unaware, the opposing team’s third baseman started in for the ball. However, by the time he picked it up, he was too late to make a play. Both Sakahara and Denyabe had secured safe positions on their respective bases.
The hit was a source of great satisfaction to all in the Icebreaker dugout as well as to the crowd.
Only Terwilliger seemed unencouraged by it. He just glared at Data.
“You see?” he said, pointing to the field of play as he approached the android. “The third baseman was in dreamland—just like you, Bogdonovich. If he’d known anything about Sakahara, he’d have charged that ball and nailed him at first. Take a lesson, rookie. And get your rear end out to the on-deck circle—or do I have to get someone to show you where it is?”
Data held up his hand. “That will not be necessary. I know where it is.”
Terwilliger looked at him. That was all—he just looked at him. His eyes seemed rounder than usual, and they were red around the edges.
“Come on,” one of the coaches said to Data. “Get out of here before Terwilliger has a heart attack.”
Like much he had encountered in this program, Data didn’t understand the implied causality of the remark. But it was his turn to be on deck, so he chose a bat from the rack and headed for the appropriate spot.
In the meantime, the Icebreakers’ first baseman, a big fellow named Galanti, had come up to bat. The first pitch thrown to him was a ball—a term that Data had thought a bit obvious until he learned its specialized