Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [46]
There was a roar of approval from the crowd. But not from Terwilliger, who came stalking out of the Icebreaker dugout with his head down—though not so far down that Data couldn’t note his discontent and hear some of the phrases he was muttering.
Terwilliger headed straight for the pitcher’s mound. So did the catcher. So did the first baseman and Denyabe and Jackson.
Data gathered that a conference of some sort was taking place. He decided to use the time to brush the dirt from his shoes.
“Hey, Bobo! Cretin!”
Terwilliger was yelling at the top of his lungs.
The android pointed to himself. “Are you calling me?” he asked.
The manager’s eyes seemed on the verge of leaping from his head. He balled up his fists and took a swing at the empty air.
“Yes, goddammit!” he cried, taking a step toward Data, his complexion assuming that dark and dangerous cast again. “Yes, I’m calling you. You wanna join us or you got something better to do?”
The android thought for a second. “No,” he said. “I have no other duties at the moment.”
And he trotted to the center of the diamond, where the others awaited him.
Terwilliger watched him every step of the way. By degrees, he calmed down, and the darkness left his face.
Everyone huddled close together. Data huddled with them.
“All right,” said the manager, “listen up. Thanks to twinkle-toes here at third base, we got ourselves one out.” He glared at the android. “Though it seemed to me he could’ve taken off a little sooner, and then maybe we’d have gotten the lead runner instead of the guy at first.” He cleared his throat. “In any case, I got a decision to make. Do we put the next guy on and set up the force or do we pitch to him?”
Data understood. This was a matter of strategy. He felt fortunate to have been made privy to such a deliberation.
Nor would he fail to make a contribution—not after Terwilliger had gone to the trouble of soliciting his opinion. He made some quick calculations.
“It is preferable to avoid intentional walks,” he said.
Terwilliger glanced at him. “What?”
“Intentional walks have the desired effect only forty-eight-point-two percent of the time,” expanded the android. “Situations are more often resolved successfully when the temptation to fill an open base is resisted.”
The manager said something under his breath. This time it was too low for Data to make out.
“I beg your pardon?” said the android.
“I said to shut up,” explained Terwilliger.
“I only offered the—”
“Shut up,” the manager repeated. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. Do you understand what I’m saying? Shut up!”
And with that he turned his attention back to the pitcher. Data looked at Denyabe. The second baseman winked at him.
“I feel good,” said the Icebreaker pitcher, answering Terwilliger’s question. He plucked the ball out of his glove and popped it back in. “I think I can blow this guy away.”
Terwilliger looked to Sakahara. “What do you think?” Sakahara shrugged. “He’s got good stuff. They’re just finding the holes.”
Terwilliger frowned and chewed his lip. Then he chewed his lip some more.
By that time the home plate umpire had joined them on the mound. “All right, ladies,” he told them. “The sewing circle’s over. What’s it gonna be?”
Terwilliger made his decision. “We pitch to him.”
Abruptly the group broke up. Data found himself standing alone on the mound with the pitcher.
The man looked surprised to see him still standing there, and Data gathered that he was supposed to have left with everyone else. With a quick inclination of his head, he took his leave of the pitcher and jogged back to third base.
The next batter approached home plate. He watched the first pitch miss for a ball. Then the pitcher reared back and threw again, and again the ball missed the strike zone.
Statistically, the android knew, batters were more likely to swing on two-and-oh pitches than on any other kind. This instance proved no exception to