Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [30]
“Just what we said,” Lyneea told him. “We’re looking for Conlon.”
“To help him,” added Riker.
The smuggler’s agent looked at them again. Finally he seemed to accept that there was no more to it than that—or very little more, anyway.
“Conlon’s in some kind of trouble,” he concluded. “Isn’t he?”
“We think he might be, yes,” said Lyneea.
Bosch cursed. “Look—I don’t know anything about Conlon disappearing, truly. But if there’s something I can do, just tell me.” He swallowed. “You’ve got to understand that Conlon’s my livelihood. Not part of it—all of it. And it’s not easy to pick up new clients these days. Too much competition, too many aliens out there crowding the field.”
Suddenly Riker found he had a bad taste in his mouth. But he believed that Bosch knew nothing of Teller’s whereabouts. Lyneea was of the same mind. Her expression confirmed that.
“When I find our friend,” he told Bosch, “I’ll inform him of your concern.”
In the meantime, Lyneea was removing the battery from the blaster. She tossed both components to Riker, one at a time.
Riker replaced them in Bosch’s drawer. Disconnecting the battery had rendered the weapon useless, and it would need a minute or so to recharge after it was connected again.
Just in case.
“Watch where you take that thing,” Lyneea said as she opened the door. “There’s a carnival on, you know. High-tech ban and all that.”
Bosch nodded. “Thanks for reminding me.” He turned back to Riker. “You going now?”
The human nodded. “Yes.” Crossing the room, he followed Lyneea out the door.
“Don’t forget,” said the smuggler’s agent, his words trailing them down the hall. “I really do want to help. Honest.”
“Subject?” queried the computer voice, silken and female as ever.
“Baseball,” said Data, confronting the monitor in his quarters. “Specifically, the state of the professional game in the year 2026 Old Earth Time.”
It took less than a second for the computer to call up the requisite information. “On screen?” it asked.
“No,” said the android. Though some of his colleagues liked to interact silently with the ship’s electronic brain, Data preferred to converse with it out loud and did so whenever circumstances allowed, as they did now. “Voice mode, please. Narrative format.”
“Very well.” There was a pause, which no one else on the Enterprise would have noticed. Then the computer began. “By the year 2026, the game of baseball had entered a period of decline. A series of bitter and protracted labor disputes, starting in 1981 and escalating shortly after the turn of the century, gradually eroded the popularity of the sport. What is more, sharp increases in ticket prices denied large segments of the population access to the games. As time went on, younger fans in particular became—”
“Stop,” said Data. “I am unfamiliar with the term ‘fan.’ “
“Fan,” repeated the computer. “An abbreviated version of the word ‘fanatic.’ In this context, used to denote devotees of the game, those who have an enthusiastic admiration for players, their efforts, and the results of those efforts.”
“I see,” said the android. “Please proceed.”
“Younger fans in particular became alienated, and the market for the game dwindled. Fewer and fewer people watched baseball on television and purchased related paraphernalia. Surveys in the year 2019 indicated that the body of baseball enthusiasts was less than half the size it had been two decades earlier. While all franchises were financially damaged by this trend, those that catered to smaller populations were damaged the most. In the period from 2018 to 2023, four teams went bankrupt and another eight changed hands a total of nineteen times.
“Dismayed by the decreasing opportunities and increasing uncertainties associated with a career in baseball, talented athletes and managers opted for other sports or avenues of endeavor. Those who took their place were generally less gifted and willing to play for lower salaries. Ironically, the professional