Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [21]
“Awright!” came a cry from the dugout. “You got ‘im where you want ‘im!”
“Your pitch!” came another cry. “Wait for your pitch!”
On the next offering, Galanti swung. It was a prodigious stroke that turned him almost completely around.
It did not propel the ball very far or very fast, however. The pitcher fielded it on one hop. He threw to second and the shortstop relayed to first.
Double play.
The crowd made clear its dissatisfaction. It was a loud and infelicitous sound.
Data understood that the play had expended two of the three outs they were allowed in this inning. However, it hadn’t been completely counterproductive. Wasn’t Denyabe standing on third base?
Nor did it take a computer to calculate what the score would be if Data stepped up to the plate now and hit a home run—something of which he felt fully capable. Certainly he had had no trouble hitting them in batting practice.
Nonetheless, the android had hardly left the on-deck circle when his teammates began shouting advice to him from the dugout.
“Okay, Bobo, a little single!”
“Just a single, baby! Bring that run in!”
Data was a bit surprised. But of course there were undoubtedly nuances of the game that he did not yet comprehend. If a single was preferable to a home run in this instance, he would do his best to hit a single.
Taking his cue from Denyabe, the android resolved to hit the first pitch that came his way. The ball was hardly out of the pitcher’s hand before he had gauged its velocity—ninety-seven miles an hour—as well as its mass, its trajectory, and the point at which it would cross home plate.
Reaching out, he stroked the ball into center field and started off for first base. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Denyabe jogging home with the first score of the contest.
The crowd exploded with approval. However, as Data rounded first base, he saw that the opposing team’s center fielder had misplayed the ball. It had glanced off his glove and dribbled a few feet away from him.
The android knew he had to keep going. One could not remain on any given base when there was an opportunity to advance to the next one.
Yet his teammates had specifically called for a single. If he went on, it would become a double—and he had no idea what effect that might have on the fate of the Icebreakers.
It was an agonizing moment. Surely it seemed that going to second base would be a good thing. But then, it had seemed that a home run would be preferable to a single, and yet his teammates had indicated otherwise.
Torn, Data hesitated—and finally decided to follow his instincts. As the center fielder pursued the rolling ball, he took off for second base. Halfway there, he saw that the ball had been recovered.
He took a few more steps, then dove. The throw was made; the ball came in low and true, beating Data’s hand to the base by the merest fraction of a second.
Both Data and the shortstop looked up at the umpire. The man didn’t do anything right away. The respective arrivals of Data and the ball would have appeared simultaneous to the human eye.
Despite that, the umpire came to a decision—and, as it happened, the correct one. Pumping his thumb in the air, he cried, “Yerrout!”
The crowd uttered unkind comments at the upper limits of their vocal range. But the opposing team was quite happy as it left the field.
Data was happy, too. He had done his best to reach the next base safely, as the rules seemed to dictate. And yet, he had complied with his teammates’ exhortations by limiting his hit to a single.
In light of all this, he expected that there would be some back-patting in store for him in the Icebreaker dugout. However, as he approached it, Galanti came loping out with his glove.
“Here,” he said, tossing it to the android. “You don’t want to go in there—believe me, you don’t.”
Before he turned and headed for his position at third base, Data got a glimpse of what his teammate was talking about. Terwilliger, it appeared, was livid. But for the two coaches restraining him, he looked as if he might