Lucky Thirteen

Eddy tapped the bat against the inside of his left shoe, then he stepped up to home plate and tried a couple of practice swings. The few people in the bleachers cheered half-heartedly from the nearly-empty seats.

The pitcher - Dobson, of course, that sanctimonious jerk - 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 Space Station Astra.

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 was out - the catcher threw the ball to third base, and Eddy walked off the field.

“Bummer,” said Contreras as he passed Eddy on his way up to the plate.

“Yeah.”

At work the next day, Eddy couldn’t help fuming a bit. He’d been up to bat four times, and four times Dobson had struck him out. They’d lost 5-2 - it was his worst game in ages. And even though it was supposedly just for fun to blow off some steam on the weekend, he knew in his gut that he could do better. But he wasn’t sure what was holding him back.

“Look alive,” said Contreras, tapping against the wall to get his attention - Joe at work. “Meeting in ten.”

Dobson - Mr. Dobson to them - was waiting in his office, along with five of Eddy’s co-workers. Two of them didn’t play ball, but the rest of them had seen each other just yesterday.

“I’d like to discuss these figures,” he said without bothering to say hi. Eddy exchanged looks with Joe, but this time they weren’t the first ones on the chopping block. That was Mike (Mason, shortstop).

Mike took the papers shoved into his face and flipped through them. “What did you want to talk about?” he asked calmly.

“Why are the estimates so low for next quarter? We have those five new asteroids - “

“And a shortage of miners. After their wage garnishment because of the tax hike, a lot of them are trying their luck at Station X. Station Astra just doesn’t have anything real to offer them.”

Billionaires had privatized space travel in the 2020s, and it was only a matter of time before privatization led to space stations in the late ’30s and ’40s. And the only thing that kept those buckets of bolts in the air and running smoothly was asteroid mining. Labor was cheap, and asteroids were chock full of dollars and cents when it came to rare and raw metals. Space was the new frontier… of profit.

“But the station committee is responsible for taxes. Not us.” Dobson ran his hands through his thinning hair, and for one second, Eddy felt a little sorry for the guy, being caught in the middle. Dobson had to maintain his production numbers, but they really had no control over decrees from the committee.

Then their boss turned his steely eyes on Eddy, and the pity he’d felt a moment before vanished. “What do you have to say about this?”

Eddy should have prepared an answer as soon as he knew the direction this conversation was going. But he felt put on the spot, just like when he was up to bat. The best he could do was take a swing at the question. He just hoped he didn’t miss.

“This is just a job,” he answered after a second’s pause, “for them, of course. They’re not invested in the company. Easy enough to desert Astra for greener pastures.”

“Hm.” Dobson leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. “What would you suggest?”

“Suggest?” Suddenly, he realized the position he’d put himself in. “Well… um…” His eyes darted around the room, but everyone was staring at him. There was no help from his co-workers, and he could feel the sweat spring out on his forehead as he tried to think.

What had the boss of Station X done? Offered bonuses to attract workers. Once a worker moved to a new station, they were under a whole new jurisdiction and set of rules. It was much harder to make the move twice because it was a huge financial drain. So, the answer was: “Um, how about trying to buy their loyalty?”

Like a whip, Dobson’s voice cracked at Joe, “What do you have to say?”

“I agree with Eddy. With a nominal pay raise and some flashy PR about how the company cares, we could get them to stay.”

Dobson's stare could peel paint as it moved around the room, but Eddy bit his tongue to prevent saying something he'd regret.

Finally, their boss's tight lips relaxed. Not quite a smile, but close. He nodded. “Crunch some numbers, then let me run it by corporate.”

“What an idiot,” Mike said later that night over a beer. They lived near each other, not too far from the engines. Cheap quarters, with several bars within walking distance.

Eddy shook his head. “Yeah. But what can you do?”

The question was rhetorical, they both knew. There weren’t a ton of desk jobs out here in space. The alternate was strapping on a helmet and mining, and no one wanted to do that. Dangerous, thankless work. They got paid more to sit on their asses and dick around all day writing PR for the company.

“Okay, how about this? We start a league.”

Eddy took a pull of his beer. His eyes were fixed on the screen in front of him, which was showing the latest baseball game piped in from Earth. He touched the screen to change it to his team, who had played yesterday. “Sure. A league of what?” he said with half his attention.

Mike punched him in the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“I said we should start a baseball league.”

Eddy raised his eyebrows. “But we already have one.”

“Sure, a company one. But I’m talking about games open to the public. I bet the miners and restaurant workers and cleaners and… well, everyone else at the station… would love to let off some steam. Earth games are great, but it’s not the same thing as being in the stands cheering for your team. That’s priceless.”

Eddy took a pull from his beer. “So, who would run this league?”

Mike didn’t hesitate. “Us. That’s what we do - organization.” He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “How hard could it be?”

At the tryouts, Eddy refrained from killing Mike. But just barely.

The rookie swung the bat again, nearly braining the catcher. Eddy covered his eyes with his hand.

“Thank you. We’ll let you know if we’re interested,” Eddy said for the six dozenth time.

“Look,” Mike said in attempted sotto voce. “I didn’t know they would be this bad.”

The man walking off the field gave them a dirty look. Eddy shrugged apologetically.

Mike continued without noticing the exchange, “We can accept a few of them, start a practice several nights a week until they’re ready…”

“That still doesn’t mean anything. We were hoping for four teams - we barely have enough for one and we've been at this for hours." Eddy shook his head. "This won’t work.”

“But look at the line.”

Eddy turned. The line snaked all the way around the “field” of the rec room, despite them having already turned down almost a hundred applicants.

“Baseball is universal,” Mike argued. “Everyone is dying for some entertainment. We all want to play a good game.”

“Okay.” Eddy sighed. “But don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

“I told you so!” said Mike several weeks later. Once word had spread, they’d gotten people - young, old, male, female - coming up to them in the walkways, in the bars, on the tram on the way to and from work. One guy even started talking to Eddy when he was at the urinal (which was an automatic NO in his book).

The two of them were the celebrities of Station Astra - and they now had enough players for four teams, and then some.

The biggest change was at work. After they’d started the practices, Dobson called them into his office. Mike launched into the plan they’d been working on for the company incentives as soon as they walked through the door, but their boss waved his hand in dismissal and interrupted. “What’s this about a league?”

Mike and Eddy exchanged a look. They’d recently brought in Joe to help train, and the three of them were alternating nights seven days a week.

“Just something for fun, sir.”

“Well, keep it up!” At the surprise on their faces, Dobson laughed. “Attrition is nonexistent. Our numbers have turned around. They’re stronger this quarter than the last three put together!”

“Ah.” Eddy actually wasn’t too pleased by this - it meant he was actually helping out his boss. He could read the same struggle on Mike’s face. “Well, good.”

“Look.” Dobson beckoned them nearer, and they leaned forward. “Just between us, is there any way I could join?”

Dobson was on the mound, fingering the ball. Eddy stepped up to the plate.

Despite now charging a price for entry to cover the rental cost of the rec room, the bleachers were packed after three months of games. When Eddy appeared from the dugout, the crowd roared.

Roared. They knew who he was, and that he - plus Mike and Joe - had made this all possible.

Eddy was number thirteen. It had always been his lucky number, and there were some perks to being in charge of something for the first time in his life. He gave a practice swing, adjusted his gloves.

Dobson nodded.

The first pitch had him swinging wild. A swing and a miss. He took a deep breath, tapped his shoes. The bat hovered over his shoulder.

With a practiced eye, he let the next one slide over the plate - too low. He wasn’t going to waste his shot.

When he heard a strike called, he turned to the ump in disbelief. The man eyed him nervously, but Eddy took a deep breath and decided to let it go. Eyes were watching. He stepped back, adjusted his gloves, and toed the dirt. Back up to the plate.

This was it. He waited. As soon as he saw movement on the mound, he swung almost before he knew what he was doing.

Craaaaccckkkk.

The sound echoed in the confines of the indoor field.

Eddy was too surprised to do much of anything for a moment. “Run, you idiot!” he heard through the cheering crowd - Mason’s voice - and got his legs in gear. The ball had gone over the fence they’d put up just that afternoon to mark the edge of the “field.” He rounded first, second, third, and came back to home.

His teammates struck him on the back, and the crowd was chanting, “Lozan-o, Lozan-o, Lozan-o.” He stood tall and raised his hat to them, tears in his eyes.

This was the start of something big. He could feel it.