Member-only story
Lucky Thirteen
Baseball… in space?
Eddy tapped the bat against the inside of his left shoe, then he stepped up to home plate and tried a few practice swings. The few people in the bleachers cheered half-heartedly from the nearly-empty seats.
The pitcher — Dobson, of course, that sanctimonious prick — rolled the ball in his right hand in preparation. When Eddy lifted the bat above his right shoulder and lightly bounced on the soles of his feet, Dobson nodded.
The windup. The pitch.
He’d guessed a slider, and Dobson didn’t disappoint. Ball one.
Next pitch, Eddy swung. A nasty one, just on the outside. After the miss, he snapped at his gloves, looking up at the dome above. His imagination could almost put clouds up there floating through a clear blue sky, instead of the metal struts of the arched grey ceiling.
It was really hard to romanticize the worn-out rec room of Station Six.
He looked back at Dobson. The man was waiting for him, none too patiently. Eddy raised his bat.
“Steeerike Two!” Another step back, another adjustment of his gloves.
This was it.
He could hear the impact of the wood on the ball so vividly that when the third strike was called, he doubted his ears at first. But no, he…
