[cochrane]

Chapter One

Hope Station II
Maximillian Andrews Memorial Park
April 2, 2130


It was perfect weather for a ballgame, she thought to herself.

The pitching machine fired off a fastball pitch toward her, and she swung the bat. Making solid contact, she knew before the ball left the bat that it would be sent high and deep into left field.

“Ball’s flying well,” said the Hope Station Giants’ batting coach from outside the batting cage constructed over the stadium’s home plate. The baseball that the team’s manager hit landed in the left field stands and bounced amongst the seats. He watched as a fan picked up the ball and returned to her seat with her new prize.

The manager smiled at him as she adjusted her grip on the bat and took a few more practice swings before returning to the batter’s box. The pitching machine on the mound signaled that another ball was loaded and ready to be thrown. She used her whole body to swing the bat, launching another ball into the outfield stands of the stadium. Stepping out of the box, she turned around at looked at the coach again. “It’s batting practice, Murph,” she replied. It was an indulgence she only allowed herself after the team finished with their practice before the game.

Edgar Murphy, the team’s batting coach, grinned at her. Since the start of spring training, he also indulged by taking batting practice with the manager while the team’s players showered in the locker room and dressed for the game. He had already swung the bat a few times, feeling his age as his right arm tightened afterwards. His left arm was a replacement cybernetic limb from his service during the war, and because of his ‘enhancement,’ prevented him from returning as a player.

She swung the bat for the last time, sending the ball into foul territory. The batting cage would be put back into storage until tomorrow. Surrendering her bat to the youngster wearing her team’s uniform and the words ‘bat boy’ on the back, she watched as he trotted off to deposit the bat back in her office. She removed her batting gloves and placed them within her jacket pocket after putting it back on.

The sights at Maximillian Andrews Memorial Park she had determined to be absolutely beautiful; reminiscent of what an earthbound ballpark would look like during the twenty-first century. Sportscasters and fans both referred to the stadium as simply ‘The Max.’ The park had been modeled to represent the older architecture while also providing for the more modern conveniences. Though there was an old-style restaurant and food court, seat delivery was available all over the ballpark by way of conveyances and delivery systems. Fans enjoyed the personal update screens available behind each seat, as well as keeping score along with the events of the game on their scribers.

The dimensions at the Max were pretty standard; five-fifteen to center field, and four-ninety-five to the lines. There was an alley in left center that extended out to five-twenty-two that her centerfielder often cursed during difficult plays, but she didn’t mind. As batters proved to be more and more powerful over the years, the fences got pushed back appropriately to keep the game competitive.

Walking down the tunnel into the team’s locker room, she felt at home among the players. This was home. Sure, she had a residence elsewhere on the station, but her time was not divided equally. As a player, she remembered the buildup and anticipation of a new season, and now as a manager, she felt the desire to play stronger than before. She was not an old woman; she could probably convince the general manager to activate her and place her on the roster. She would not be the first player-manager in the league; the Lick Segment Navigators had been run by a player-manager for the past two seasons. Every time she swung the bat at the plate, the same idea crept into her mind. By the time she entered her office, it departed as casually as it had arrived once she realized the nature of managerial responsibilities. No, she was forced into retirement by the war, and this was her place, now.

She walked by the door to her office, and noted with pride that they managed to spell her last name right this time. “Tessa Bonneventure,” it read. Before, they had spelled her last name with an a, instead of an e. Not that it mattered to anyone else, but she felt that getting her name right was no minor detail. Thankfully, the facilities manager agreed and saw to it right after the game.

Removing her jacket and placing it upon the couch in her office, Tessa settled into the chair behind the desk and began to unbutton her batting practice jersey.

Unlike the formal game uniform, the batting practice uniform was primarily black, while the home uniform was cream-colored with black lettering and orange piping. The Hope Station Giants were patterned after the San Francisco Giants of the old major leagues. This meant they took on the same team colors and emblem, though instead of the orange S and F logo, the H and S were situated similarly upon a black baseball cap.

Today’s game against the Pride of Callisto was the second of a three-game series to open the new baseball season. Like the Giants, the Pride were a new expansion team and represented the ice mining metropolis located on one of the moons of Jupiter. They played all of their home games in the university’s stadium within the colony, but this season they would open with a road trip. During the Stellar War, the ball club that played for Callisto were known as the Icebreakers, and they were a co-op in the double-A Jupiter League. When a franchise opportunity was made available, the former Icebreaker owners jumped on board and announced the Pride of Callisto would begin playing ball and open tryouts were held.

Yesterday’s season and home opener was a heartbreaker for the Giants; the Pride managed to play small ball and held onto the lead in the top of the tenth inning and won it with a score of seven runs to six. The ace pitcher, Jimmy Petropoulos, took it pretty rough. Although Tessa felt the game was a showcase of talent that the new league had to offer, the local media were quick to criticize the performances of the players on the field.

Tessa was annoyed when she watched the nightly sports reports, and knew that Jimmy would need consoling before the game started. Thankfully, her pitching coach would spend time with him today.

After changing into the home uniform, Tessa grabbed her jacket and made her move toward the door. The locker room had already emptied except for custodial staff. The enthusiasm for the game was apparent in the way her players conducted themselves. They were hungry to win, and she saw that they played with heart. She felt good about the season, already.

---

“And now, the starting line up for your Hope Station Giants,” said the park announcer over the public address system around the stadium after having read the Pride of Callisto’s lineup.

“Leading off, number nineteen, third baseman, Bernadette Himuro!” Tessa could not help from giving a soft chuckle at the image on the screen when eighteen year-old Bernie Himuro’s impish grin flashed on the screen. They had cut off the end of the record before it played out on the screens; the part when Himuro stuck out her tongue at the camera. She was one of the five rookies on the team. Speed was the name of the third baseman’s game; Bernie was the quickest infielder Tessa had seen in a long time. When coupled with Himuro’s bunting skills, she proved a serious threat to beat out the throw. She proved that yesterday by going four for five and stealing four bags. Defensively, Tessa believed that Bernie would eventually win the golden glove, but not this year.

“Batting second, number one, centerfielder, Kin-Wah Johannsen!” Kay-Jay is what the team called him, for no reason other than it sounded like a good nickname. Kenny was what he went by, they would find out later, but the Kay-Jay moniker stuck like glue. Fans picked up on it and so did the public relations team. As a player, Tessa found him to be a good contact hitter; someone you’d want to move Bernie up when she got on base. So far, he did just that, though it was the first game of the season. He was a tall man, and his strides made the outfield small enough for him to move around.

“Batting third, number twenty-two, first baseman, Les D’Agostino!” One of the two veterans on the team, Les and Tessa often shared stories about games and old times. She couldn’t help but like him, but his years were growing short. He still had offensive power, but there was a reason the guy was assigned to first base, and though she never said anything about it, he understood the move. Tessa hoped he would retire this year to go out with some dignity, but she also knew he had a wife and five children to provide for. The fact that he needed three more seasons to make a decent pension forced him to keep on playing.

“Batting cleanup and catching, number nine, Mariposa Quintara!” Mariposa was something of an enigma. She kept to herself when not on the field, barely spoke unless spoken to. She handled the pitchers masterfully, and was showing signs of becoming the defensive captain. Tessa respected Mariposa’s style, and did not know if the woman even knew how good she was. On top of being effective as a catcher, no one could match the power of her bat. During spring training, she regularly parked the ball in every game she started in. In yesterday’s game, however, she went oh-for-three, but they intentionally walked her twice because they were afraid of her potential to do damage with runners in scoring position.

“In fifth, number thirty-five, shortshop Jacob Nystrom!” The son of the famous shortshop that played for Hawai’i during the war, Jake was every bit his mother in many respects. Tessa played against Chelsea Nystrom for a couple of seasons, and even in her final years, Chelsea was a living legend in the sport. Jake had yet to prove himself, however, he exhibited a lot of the same qualities. His youth shone through most of the time, and as a playful nineteen year old, he quickly became the practical joker. The median age of the team hovered in the low twenties, with Jake and Bernie the youngest of the club. As a middle defender, Jake was not as solid as his mother was, but with a little time and tutelage, there was every chance he could best Chelsea. Unlike his mother, however, he could send the ball out of the park with some regularity; he hit two dingers over five hundred feet yesterday.

“Batting sixth and in right field, number five, Mathilda Guerrero!” The other vet on the team, Mathilda and Tessa played together for two seasons with the Gerrold Pioneers before Mathilda got traded to the Prometheus team. Tessa and Mathilda kept tabs on each other after the war decimated the sport, and when Tessa was announced as the new manager, Mathilda could not help but look up her old teammate and ask for an invitation to spring training. Luckily for the both of them, Mathilda had not lost her edge as a player, and though she might not have kept her powerful bat, her defense could not be denied.

“At second base and batting seventh, number eleven, Macintyre Jabert!” Tessa took a chance when she selected Mac as her choice for second base. Mac had no redeeming qualities above being a solid middle infielder. As far as second basemen go, Tessa needed someone to work with Jake at short. Tessa did not need Mac to be a slugger, since she had Mariposa and Jake. Only time would tell on Tessa’s gamble.

“Batting eighth and in left field, number twenty-eight, Patrick Fortenberry!” He was the good luck charm of the club, due to his klutz-like nature in the locker room. Patrick had the grace of a circus clown while moving around in the locker room. The other players in the clubhouse tended to give the boy a wide berth when they shared it with him. On the field, however, it was as though when he put on the glove, it endowed him with grace and skill. He handled line drives easily, and climbed fences to grab at balls that threatened to clear the fence. At the plate, though, he was not making contact like he should.

“Batting ninth and your starting pitcher for today, number forty-five, Kimiko Inoue!” The number two starter in Tessa’s four-man rotation was a young pitcher who threw like her life depended on it. The pitching coach brought Kimiko to Tessa’s attention at training, and after a few simulated starts, it looked like she showed enough stamina to go the distance in spite of her age. Today was the pitcher’s first outing, so Tessa hoped Kimiko performed as well as she had. She was the shortest pitcher on staff, by far, at a small five-foot-one, but her size fooled most batters into a sense of security. Tessa found her to be one of the most intimidating pitchers in the game today, and knew that Kimiko would go on to contend for a Cy Young Award; maybe this year, definitely next year.

“And managing the Hope Station Giants, number forty-four, Tessa Bonneventure!” As her name was called, she walked out of the dugout and doffed her cap as the team’s public relations executives wanted her to. She hated the fact that it took attention away from her players, but anything to put people in the stands. She knew that the decision to hire her was in some way an attempt to curry favor with older fans. Most of those older fans had families and often enough, they would bring their families to the park to watch Tessa manage a ball club. Hopefully, those youngsters would become fans and a whole new generation of income would be set up for the franchise. But, if it gave her an opportunity to be around the game, she would take it.

The public address system called for applause as the defense took the field. She watched Kimiko throw a few more warm-up pitches to Mariposa before the Pride leadoff hitter approached the plate. Tessa perched on her stool she brought in, placed by the mesh fence protecting the dugout and watched the game start. In the dugout, her batting and pitching coaches made use of the displays and sensor equipment available to them, and if she were so inclined, she could sit inside the dugout and do the same. However, when she tried to manage using the technology, she believed herself to be too disconnected from the pulse of the game, having to rely on fatigue warnings, defensive projections, and other computer-generated outputs. No, she wanted to smell the grass, the dirt, and watch her players play the game.

Tessa did, however, use the radio system during defense. Every player on the field had a small communications device in their ear, with the exception of the pitcher; Kimiko preferred to pitch using the old signs from the catcher, and Mariposa was happy to oblige her. She had said that it ruined her concentration to listen to the chatter over the radio.

Kimiko Inoue kept her dirty blonde hair short, as most women players in the league did. Long hair simply was not conducive to playing baseball, in certain situations, especially on Hope Station. If the simulated wind blew a strand into your face at a critical moment, the play could be blown and the game could be lost. No one wanted to be the root cause of a loss, if they could help it. Kimiko’s hair was not too short, though she cared less about being attractive than about winning games, it was kept in a bobbed fashion.

Mariposa gave her a sign, and Kimiko went into her wind-up by twisting her body back to the left and lifting her right leg up before throwing the ball in a submariner style. As soon as the pitch left her hand, Tessa knew it would be straight heat. When the pitch slapped into Mariposa’s mitt loudly and the umpire called strike one, Tessa’s head snapped around to read the speed display in the dugout. It read 168kmh (105mph). Tessa blinked for a brief moment before hearing the crowd’s reaction to the pitch’s speed.

The Pride hitter’s look of astonishment was brief, but visible. Quickly, he returned to his stance, ready to time the next pitch in an attempt to make contact. He narrowed his eyes and stared at Kimiko with all the ferocity he could muster.

Kimiko came set, lifted her leg again, and fired off her second pitch of the game. The Pride hitter smirked and swung, keeping his arc down to try and hit the ball on the ground. He swung through and the umpire called strike two.

The display read: 172kmh (107mph). She could hear the pitching coach behind her failed to keep a laugh stymied.

Tessa tried to keep her expression as calm as possible and failed as a smile appeared on her face.

The hitter was visibly angry, now. Tessa knew him to be a more experienced hitter, but he had never faced Kimiko before. This was a brand new team, with more than half of its players coming in off the street and trying out. Very little game data had been produced, but Tessa knew that if Kimiko kept throwing like this, there would be scouts following the Giants everywhere to get a look at her.

On the third pitch, Kimiko’s hand moved slightly in a twisting direction. The ball moved significantly slower and danced around in the air before landing down and in.

The Pride hitter was frozen in place.

The umpire screamed, “Strike three!” He gestured in the bow-and-arrow fashion to signal the out, and the crowd went wild.

Tessa beamed. She looked over at the pitching coach and smiled at her. She remarked, “Perfect weather for a ballgame, isn’t it?”

---

Inoue gave up a triple, but held him there as she forced the next two batters to ground out. The bottom of the first brought up the Giants’ leadoff hitter, Bernie Himuro. Bernie was set to bunt from before she left the dugout. She knew her job was to get herself on base and ready to steal second. Within sixty seconds of the first pitch, Bernie stood atop second and readied herself to steal her fifth base of the year.

The Pride pitcher, Cecil Collins threw a quick sinker in to Kay-Jay as Bernie took off for second. The catcher, Lee Giguere, fired a rifle shot to the shortstop, Billy Claypool, and although Bernie’s speed was impressive, she was a foot shy of beating the throw and tried not to look disappointed as she trotted back to the dugout.

Tessa patted her on the shoulder as she showed a little emotion and tossed her helmet into her slot and grabbed her fielding ballcap. Murph chatted with her and calmed her down, but Tessa’s attention returned to Johannsen’s at-bat.

When Kay-Jay flied out and Les grounded to Collins, the team ran back to their field positions while Kimiko warmed up with a few pitches between innings. Tessa reached into her jacket and pulled the small display device with her lineup. Before Claypool was finished in the on-deck circle, she decided to try something new when it came time to face Callisto again. The opening series with the Pride was only two games, and Tessa considered them to be nothing more than an extension of spring training.

Immediately after the game, they would hop aboard the team shuttle and speed to Pacifica. They would have to sleep on the shuttle, because they would arrive just in time for batting practice. Thankfully, the shuttle had individual accommodations to house up to fifty people and at times it was as comfortable as her own bedroom on the space station.

After Claypool flied out, Harold Thomas, the left fielder for the Pride of Callisto, stepped into the box and stared at Inoue. Thomas was a large man, over six a half feet tall and rather muscular. The scouting reports said he might take over the cleanup position from their third baseman, Salazar, if he did not perform as they expected. Inoue released another high speed fastball toward the plate, and the crack of the bat sounded off like a rifle shot. Five hundred twenty feet into the center field bleachers and all of the Giants watched it fly. Thomas trotted around the bases as the fans booed him for ruining the score by putting the Pride on the board, one run to nothing.

The Giants’ pitching coach was a tall woman by the name of Patricia Washington. She held no relation to the famous pitcher from the early twentieth century, but she was named for her by her father. As a result, she was a professional starter and later a hell of a closer for the late, great Baltimore Orioles of the old Major Leagues. Patty hesitated, looking at Tessa for permission to head out and handle Kimiko after being dealt a blow.

Tessa looked back at Patty and shook her head. “Let her work it through with Mariposa.”

Kimiko came set after Thomas touched home and the Pride second baseman, Kilby, readied himself in the box. As she had in the first inning, she tossed three pitches: a slider, a curve, and then one of the nastiest knucklers Tessa had ever seen.

ilby tried to connect with the knuckleball as it danced low and away. The bat came around and almost landed in the dirt with the force of his swing, but the ball landed with a quiet slap in Quintara’s glove. The ump pulled out his bow-and-arrow motion and called Kilby out.

Though she walked the catcher, she struck out her counterpart with another three pitches to end the inning. When Kimiko entered the dugout and put on a jacket to keep her arm warm, Tessa walked over to her and smiled. “Nice recovery.”

"We’re still a run down,” replied Inoue disheartenedly.

"The way you’re pitching, I’m sure you’ll hold them to that one lucky swing.”

---

True to Tessa’s words, Kimiko held them to that run, but Collins matched Kimiko’s prowess on the mound until the middle of the eighth. The Pride bullpen and their closer, Jessica Percival, made sure that they won by one run again for the sweep of the two-game series.

After the game, the team held their meeting on the shuttle owned by the Giants, known as the Frozen Rope. Within the shuttle’s main deck, there was an assembly area with couches and a large display panel. It was the first time during the regular season that they would meet aboard the shuttle, and the occasion was marked with a small commissioning ceremony complete with drinks and food that the club’s staff provided.

They were on their way to play the Pacifica Cubs. Pacifica was the capital city of the moon of Ganymede. Like Callisto, Ganymede orbited Jupiter and also had clubs in the old Jupiter league. The number of cities and towns littering the Ganymede landscape totaled a population of just over one hundred million citizens.

Tessa looked forward to visiting Pacifica, because the manager of the Cubs was a very old friend of hers. In their time together as teammates playing for the triple-A affiliate of the Santa Clara Athletics, the Sacramento River Cats, Tessa Bonneventure and Veronica Del Toro were the media darlings of the Pacific Coast League. While Tessa played at short, Veronica played second base, and together they turned defensive plays that the beat writers would call “feats of defensive magic.” When the Athletics traded Tessa after that season to the Lunaport Rockhounds, the A’s promoted Veronica to play for them in Santa Clara. In 2117, the Rockhounds and the A’s met in the System Series. That was the last time they saw each other before the end of the major leagues.

Though she was looking forward to the series for personal reasons, her club came out of the first two games feeling less than whole. As they settled in with their food on their plates, Tessa strode before the crowd, and in her soft-spoken alto, she asked the dreaded question, “How is everyone feeling?”

The response she received was less than pleasant. She smiled. “I won’t regale you all with another uplifting story from the old major leagues, but I will say that you improved upon yourselves one hundred percent from game one. The defense came together, Kimiko’s pitching was near-perfect, and now all we need to do is add run production.”

Jake Nystrom tossed out, “Easier said than done. No one here could figure out Collins.”

“That’s pretty bold coming from the only person here who has a couple of longballs next to his name,” replied Bernadette Himuro.

“I also have goose eggs on tonight’s line, Bernie,” said Jake. “I say we watch some records of Collins delivery, we can get a bead on how to beat him and the Pride.”

“Good suggestion, Jake,” admitted Tessa. “However, after everyone is finished eating, you’re all to be in bed no later than midnight. Study tape, but I suggest you relax. We don’t face Collins and the Pride for a couple of weeks. Plenty of time to study later, but if you do decide to study, why don’t you get to work on solving the problem of a pitcher by the name of Luis Sheridan.”

---

Mariposa Quintara sat at the computer terminal in her assigned stateroom, watching records of the Cubs hitters and pitchers. The Cubs used a five man rotation, like the rest of the Neo-Majors. The Giants were the only club that employed a four-man pitching rotation, with Jimmy, Kimiko, Casey Lagrange, and Kelly Ewan. According to the Skipper, Pierre Aponte was the spot starter, if the rotation gets tired and needs a day off. With the exception of Jimmy, the other three starters were pretty younger and could bounce back from three days rest. Kimiko was a workhorse, and pitched complete simulated games several times during spring training. She had the most strikeouts in simulation, and Mariposa knew it was a matter of time before she would start baffling batters.

As if on cue, Kimiko arrived at Mariposa’s door, with her proverbial hat in her hand. “May I come in?”

Mariposa nodded and gestured for the number two starter to enter. After both of them made themselves comfortable, Quintara waited for the pitcher to say something.

“I shouldn’t have let Thomas hit off me.”

“Well,” said Mariposa, “he did.”

Kimiko replied angrily, “I was there.”

“So was I, and you know how he did it?” asked Mariposa.

“No.”

“He watched you throw nothing but heat for the first part of the inning, and he nailed your timing. Thomas is a vet; he’s thirty-one and he’s played semi-pro ball on Callisto since the end of the war,” explained the catcher. “If there was anyone on that team who was going to nail your fastball, it was him.”

“But you called for the fastball!” Inoue nearly shouted.

“Yeah,” Mariposa nodded. “You’ve been driving yourself really hard these past few months, especially with the fastball. I think it’s safe to say you’ve been building up the heat in your mind as your signature pitch.”

Kimiko opened her mouth to respond, but she closed it and nodded.

“Someone, somewhere, somehow was going to figure that out, and they were going to be ready for it,” continued Mariposa. “I’d rather you learn that now, at the beginning of the season, than when we’re fighting for a playoff berth. Jesus Christ, Kimiko, you’re a pitcher with seven pitches at your command. Fastball, changeup, curveball, knuckler, slider, cutter, and you’re picking up the splitter pretty damn quick. You’re going to be the Cy Young candidate of our rotation this year and every year if you keep it up.”

Inoue blushed under the barrage of compliments from Quintara.

“Later in the game, did you see how your knuckler and changeup were keeping them off balance? I was calling for some pretty bizarre combinations toward the later innings, and you ended up finishing the game with thirteen Ks, in spite of the loss.”

Kimiko nodded and thought out loud. “I come back up in the rotation for the last game. Do you think by then we can go over their lineup and start strategizing a little better?”

Mariposa smiled. “Absolutely.”