Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [56]
Data thought about it. “Or perhaps just begin to stride before I have to.”
“Or perhaps just that,” agreed Geordi. “You should wait a little longer before reacting. That way, a slower pitch won’t fool you. And with your strength and speed, you’ll still be able to handle a fast pitch.”
“Wait longer,” repeated Data. “I will remember that.”
“But that’s not all there is to it,” Geordi added. “Remember, I said there were two issues involved here.”
“Ah,” responded the android. “So you did.”
“The second one,” said Geordi, “has to do with the flight of the pitch. Whoever named that thing a curveball knew just what he was talking about—it really does curve. In this case, down and into the batter, although that’s not to say it can’t curve in other directions as well.”
“I thought I saw the ball drop just before it reached me,” recalled Data. “And you say it moved toward me as well?”
“That’s what happened all right. And it had something to do with the way the ball was spinning.”
“Spinning,” repeated the android. “How interesting.”
“Very interesting. And also, as far as I can tell, quite impossible.”
Data looked at him. “But it happened.”
Geordi shrugged. “I can think of two principles that might be at work here—but neither one would explain that curve.”
“Perhaps,” said the android, “if you went over them with me …”
“Sure,” said the chief engineer. “Maybe you can find something I’ve overlooked.” He paused, frowning. “Okay, theory number one. If the weight of the ball was distributed unevenly, the spin imposed on it could create eccentricities in its trajectory. However, judging by this specimen I’m holding in my hand, there aren’t any serious disparities in weight distribution, so that shouldn’t be a factor.”
Data pondered that. It was true—the balls he had handled in the field had actually been quite well balanced. If they’d been otherwise, he certainly would have noticed.
“Theory number two,” resumed Geordi. “Friction. The stitches that protrude from the ball, finding resistance in the molecules that constitute this atmosphere, could work to turn the object away from the straight course dictated by momentum. But for that to happen in any significant way, the air would have to be several times denser than what we’re breathing. Or the stitches would have to be many times larger, to invite more resistance.”
Data could find no loophole in either analysis. And yet there had to be an explanation. He said so.
“No doubt there is,” said Geordi. “And I’ll think about it some more. But for now I’m stumped.”
“Stumped,” echoed the android. He searched his memory for the word. “Ah. Stumped. Stymied. Thwarted. Frustrated …”
“All of that,” admitted Geordi. “In the meantime, you’ll have to do the best you can.”
He followed Geordi’s gaze into the Icebreaker dugout, where the android’s teammates were frozen in various poses. Terwilliger, his foot planted on the dugout’s second step, was leaning forward on his knee. His face was half turned away from the goings-on at home plate, as if he couldn’t bear to watch—as if he knew that Bobo would find a way to keep him from his victory. Jackson, nestled in the shadows, looked on with what appeared to be only mild interest. Cherry was leaning on the bat rack, scrutinizing the pitcher through narrowed eyes.
“Didn’t those guys know anything?” asked Geordi. “About the curveball, I mean?”
“Not very much,” said the android.
His friend regarded him. “Look, Data, maybe it’s none of my business, but … well, why is this so important to you? Commander Riker no doubt intended this to be fun—relaxation. And here you are, putting an awful lot of effort into something that no one else will ever know or care about.”
“Perhaps,” said the android. “And I must admit, I have asked myself the same question, without being able to come up with a satisfactory answer.” He looked back at Geordi. “In that respect, I suppose, the curveball and my motivation have much in common.”
Geordi smiled. “Okay. To each his own.” He jerked a thumb