Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [68]
The umpires were incorrect. By the top of the sixth the skies had become bloated with black-bellied clouds, which looked no less menacing after the stadium lights were turned on. Then came the wind and the sheeting downpour, and by the time the ground crew rolled out the tarpaulin, the pitcher’s mound and the base paths were the color of rich, dark cocoa.
Now Data knew what the clubhouse man had meant when he’d questioned the weather before the game. Apparently he’d seen this kind of meteorological phenomenon before.
In any case the android didn’t have to sit through the delay. He could have stopped the program and picked it up again after the deluge was over. Certainly he wasn’t honing his prowess as a baseball player by huddling in the dugout.
But only a couple of the other Icebreakers had retreated into the clubhouse. Most of them remained out here despite the swirling wind and the rain, speaking in soft voices and regarding the vast, empty field. Occasionally they would laugh, and the laughter would ripple down the bench from player to player until it was finally lost in the shusharush of the elements.
This was part of the experience, Data told himself. Part of what Commander Riker had built for himself, and as such, he could not overlook its possible value.
Still, as time passed, and the players’ exchanges became more and more like those that had gone before, the android found his mind drawn elsewhere. It kept returning to matters outside the holodeck and, in particular, to the goings-on in Besidia.
Why had the first officer been called down there? And was he truly out of the woods now, as Dr. Crusher had informed the captain? Or, as Wesley seemed to think, did other dangers await him?
Throughout the worst of the storm, Denyabe had been sitting next to Data, his fists jammed into the pockets of his warm-up jacket. He hadn’t spoken a word to the android or anyone else. He just followed the clouds in their passage and smiled from time to time.
So the android was unprepared when Denyabe elbowed him in the ribs—or what would have been his ribs if he’d truly been Bobo Bogdonovich, and not Dr. Soong’s creation.
“Hey,” said the second baseman. “You look down. Like your best friend just died.”
Data looked at him. How perceptive, he thought. Especially in view of the android’s limited capacity for facial expression.
“In fact,” he told Denyabe, “a friend was severely injured recently. But I am told he is recuperating.”
The second baseman nodded. “Good.” He turned back to the field, where the rain had lightened to a drizzle and the wind seemed all but spent.
Just when Data thought their conversation had come to an end, Denyabe nudged him again and pointed to something. The android followed his gesture past the left field wall to the mountains rising in the distance.
“See that?” he asked.
Data wasn’t sure what he was referring to. He said as much.
“The light,” said Denyabe. “The sun’s trying to come out—way up in the mountains.”
The android saw it now, though he was a little surprised at the acuity of his teammate’s vision. Most humans could not see well at such great distances.
“It’s the Light,” said Denyabe.
“The Light?” echoed the android.
“Yes. The Light, the golden radiance that pierces the clouds at the end of a storm.” The second baseman’s eyes narrowed. “Back where I come from—or anyway, where my people come from—it’s supposed to be an omen of good luck. The Light touches you, the goddess Fortune lays her hands on your shoulders, and you’re blessed. You’ll become wealthy, you’ll have a big family, you’ll be surrounded by love and happiness. The same with the land. Where the Light falls on it, the crops will grow strong and tall.”
Out among the mountains, the shafts of light were easily visible now. As the storm receded, they seemed to be approaching the stadium.
“An interesting theory,” said Data. “And probably