A Perfect Game

By Justin King

The next phase in human evolution takes it's first steps within the sport of Baseball.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Justin King
• Release date: Mar 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386334446

Book preview

Prologue

In the middle of a wide lake there was an island.  Lush vegetation and vibrant life teemed on the island and it contrasted with the gray stillness of the icy land that surrounded it.  At the island’s heart stood a magnificent tree upon which red fruit ripened under broad green leaves.  Scores of the red fruit had fallen from the tree and covered the island like jewels.

Approaching from the outer shores of the lake were two creatures that had surpassed all others and had learned how to walk upright on the land.  These creatures were later to be known as men.  The first of the men came from the way that the sunset and the second man came from where the sun rose.  Both men stopped at the edge of the shore, saw the magnificent tree on the green island, and narrowed their eyes as they saw each other.

The first man stood short in height but stout in frame and was covered in gray-blue fur from an animal he had killed.  The size of his muscles were matched only by the size of his thick head.  The first man took the initiative and began to wade into the water towards the island as his powerful body fought the water that resisted his efforts.  A dour, single-mindedness filled his eyes as he kept them focused on the island.  In a later day he would be called Neanderthal.

The second man stood tall and narrow in comparison to the first and was covered by the white-red fur of an animal he had killed.  His head was smaller by direct comparison to the first man yet larger when compared to the composition of his own body.  The second man reacted quickly to his opponent’s actions and his eyes scanned everything he saw before him.  Upon seeing an ideal way to proceed, the second man dove into the water and used his slim yet agile limbs to propel himself through the water towards the island.  In a later day he would call himself Sapien.

Neanderthal waded through the waist deep water as Sapien finished his swim and ran towards the heart the island that contained the tree.  As Neanderthal continued to get closer and closer Sapien scanned his environment and his eyes found a group of several rocks in which no single rock was bigger than his hand.  Sapien gathered them all and ran towards the highest part of the island which rose as a mound at the base of the tree.

As Neanderthal stepped to the shore of the green island he was greeted with a rock hurled by Sapien that hit him square in the forehead.  A loud crack rang out as stone collided with dense bone of Neanderthal’s skull and he yelled in pain.  Neanderthal paused and scanned his environment and his eyes found a large section of branch devoid of leaves that had been torn off in a recent winter storm.  Neanderthal used his newfound weapon to knock aside the next rock hurled his way as sound of rock against wood rang loudly throughout the air. 

Both men paused as they stared at each other across the short span that now separated them.  The men studied each other as they were clearly similar yet clearly different at the same time.  They locked eyes and both knew without saying a word that one of them would stay and the other could not.  Blood flowed from Neanderthal’s forehead as he let out a scream and charged the mound that Sapien had occupied.

Sapien’s long arm reared back and hurled stone after stone with tremendous fury as stone after stone found its mark.  Neanderthal in vain tried to dodge or knock away many of the rocks that came his way.  The majority of the barrage landed and Neanderthal was forced to drop his branch as the pain became too great for him to bare.  Sapien pressed his advantage and began to throw anything and everything that his quick hands could grasp.  Neanderthal lashed out with a berserk fury but he was too slow to hit the smarter and faster Sapien.  Bruised bloodied and beaten Neanderthal realized he had been bested by the more coordinated man.  Neanderthal turned and ran his slow run back into the water towards the icy land from which he came.

Sapien watched until his opponent was across to the barren outer shore of the lake before he grasped and bit into one of the red jewels strewn about the island.  Once confident his opponent would trouble him no more the Sapien called out to the side of the lake from which he came.  Within moments other Sapiens of various sizes and ages swam across the lake towards the island all wearing the white-red fur of the second man.  Sapien watched as Neanderthal wandered back into the frozen wasteland never to be seen again.

April

Red and white stripes flickered in front of the blue field of fifty one stars.  The flag was presented on an immense screen at the north end of the stadium and was accompanied by smaller digital screens which displayed various advertisements.

The digital flag waved majestically on the screen in stark contrast to the windless world that surrounded it.  What was once painstakingly sewn by hand from dyed cotton had become a product mass produced on an assembly line made from synthetic fibers but now all sings of production disappeared entirely and the flag was composed of ones and zeroes formed into intangible bits of colored light.

Everyone stand for the National Anthem.  The voice boomed over the stadium speakers.  The thousands of people in attendance led by instinct, rose and placed their hands over their hearts to the image of the large flag displayed on the viewing screen.  The origin of the symbol of the United States of America was not important and they honored the digital flag just as their parents’ generation had honored the synthetic flag and just as their parents’ generation honored the natural flag.

The singer was a rising pop star who did well to hit the highs and the lows of the song at the right times.  This was a clear sign of technological enhancement of the vocal chords as the perfect pitch that was displayed was now becoming standardized for the national anthem.  The more technically perfect the song became the less perfect it translated to the audience that heard it.  All in all it was a successful performance of the that ritual that all in attendance, including all the citizens of the fifty-one stars watching on the Telenet at home, passed and now it was out of the way it was time for another ritual to be performed.

Ladies and gentlemen, The President of the United States.  The President raised his hat to the crowd as he walked out with confidence onto the pitcher’s mound.  The President wore a blue Yankees windbreaker and the blue section of the crowd cheered while the red section booed.  The President paused and waved for a moment as he sensed that cheers outnumbered boos, which was fitting seeing as he was in his hometown.  The President replaced his Yankees hat and smiled for all the Telenet cameras, his perfect straight white teeth became the focal point of his charming smile.  Hernandez’s popularity was based almost entirely on the fact that the man looked like how many thought a president should look.  With a pitch that had a fair amount of heat on it, President Hernandez reminded everyone in the stands and watching at home that he didn’t do anything halfhearted and that he was fully in charge.

Gentlemen, play ball.  He said into a microphone that was handed to him by one of the dozens of men in dark suits that surrounded him at all times.  On his way out of the stadium he paused to shake hands and sign autographs for those on the edge of the wall of the men in dark suits.  Before he made his way out he took one last moment for the Telenet cameras as he signed the ball of a sick child and then he put his hat on the child’s head.  The dark suits filed in front of and behind the President like a man traveling with his swarm of shadows.  Just as soon as the he had appeared President Hernandez was gone.

The Cardinals went to take the field and the starting pitcher, Castillo, took the pitcher’s mound.  The first batter up, Perez, had three strikes against Castillo’s famous slider as the baseball seemed to have a high trajectory but dropped low at the very moment it made it to home plate.  The next batter found a piece of Castillo’s slider but it went foul and the right fielder ran towards the low wall and caught the foul ball over the heads of eager fans.  Daniels, the third batter, took his time at the plate as usual and anticipated the pitch from Castillo which resulted in Daniels hitting a line drive between second and third base.  Daniels scampered towards first base as the left fielder threw the ball to the second baseman who then threw it towards the first baseman but was too late as Daniels beat the throw and was declared safe by the umpire.

On deck to bat next was Ricky Blackwell who practiced his power swing with dark circular weights on his bat.  As Ricky Blackwell walked up to the plate a sudden silence fell on the crowd of blues part reverence and part discomfort at seeing their new star player and certain inductee to the baseball hall of fame.  Blackwell focused his gaze towards the pitcher’s mound through his dark sunglasses.  The crowd of reds booed as Blackwell stood by home plate and assumed his now all too familiar batting stance with his bat high and his knees low; his body was a still as a statue composed of pinstriped marble.   

Looking on from the Cardinals dugout Sammy Jameson jumped up from the bench and stood next to his manager.

You know I should be out there Skip.  The shadows of the dugout covered Jameson’s uniform and dark skin leaving only his eyes as two intense points of light focused on Blackwell.

Castillo shook his head several times to his catcher which indicated that he wanted to change the pitch or at least make Blackwell think that he wanted to change it.  Blackwell remained as still as always.  Blackwell never seemed to make any of the dozens of minor adjustments to his gloves or his grip on the bat that other batters made all the time.  It was as if everything was already perfect the moment that he stepped inside the batter’s box.

Castillo is going to try to be clever and that isn’t how you get this guy Skip.  Tell him to throw some heat.  Sammy Jameson said.

Castillo reared back and threw his famous slider showing that all the pitching changes were just an attempt at a ruse to confuse Blackwell.  The ball dropped at the last second on its’ way to the home plate and in response Blackwell did not flinch at all but rather stood motionless in his batting stance.  The umpire indicated a strike.

He got him that time.  The skipper’s attention remained focused on the game.

He ain’t gonna keep falling for that.  Tell him to throw the heat.  Trust me Skip I have studied this guy.  Jameson said.

Castillo shook his head on a couple of suggestions from his catcher.  He nodded when he found the one he liked.  Ricky Blackwell remained motionless.  Castillo reared back and threw the ball as hard as he could.  The ball tore through the air traveling at ninety-nine miles an hour towards home plate.  Blackwell checked his swing halfway through as the fastball was not the pitch he had expected.  The umpire indicated strike two.

There was some heat for you Sammy.  Castillo is a professional so you can relax.  The Skipper turned and matched Jameson’s intense stare with his own.

Castillo shook his head at the pitches that the catcher recommended.  Castillo settled on the one he liked and he stared at the motionless effigy that wore pinstripes and sunglasses.  Castillo reared back again and he let his slider rip through the distance between the mound and home plate.  The ball was straight in the middle of the strike-zone but fell off at the end as Ricky Blackwell sprang to life.  With perfect form and timing Blackwell twisted his body and swung his bat in a wide arc which culminated in the cracking sound of wood on leather.

A thousand pairs of eyes along the left field wall watched as the ball soared through the air towards them.  Ten thousand pairs of eyes in the stadium watched as the left fielder ran as fast as he could and jumped as high as he could but the ball easily cleared the wall.  Ten million pairs of eyes watched on their Telenet screens at home as Ricardo Blackwell ran around the bases while Jorge Castillo hung his head in defeat.  The fans in red booed as the fans in blue gave a cool and minimal celebration for the first home run of their season.

I hate to say it but I told you Skip.  Jameson cast his intense gaze on Blackwell as he rounded third base and made his way to home plate.  Mister Hardware there can hit anything going less than one hundred miles per hour.  Castillo never stood a chance.

The Cardinal’s manager put his hand on Jameson’s right shoulder.

You just rest that arm of yours Sammy.  The Skipper paused as Blackwell put both of his feet on home plate, waved to the apathetic crowd, and then walked back to the Yankees dugout. 

You rest up and I promise you that you will get your chance to start against him next time.  Skip said.  Jameson’s intense gaze turned into a smile of gratitude.  His time was soon to come.

◆◆◆

The Telenet focused solely on Blackwell as he made his way back to the dugout and the other players gave him the mandatory praise for hitting a home run but no more.  Blackwell sat down on the bench just as still as his time at bat.  His face was focused on the next Yankee batter as the sunlight bounced off the mirrors of his sunglasses.

And there you have it folks, the first home run of the season by one of the game’s greatest hitters, Ricky Blackwell.  The announcer’s voice was factual but contained little excitement.

Now you can see why they call him the sixty million dollar man.  He is proving to be worth every penny for New York.  The younger announcer’s voice came in with plenty of exuberance.  The Telenet panned out to show a mild fan reaction to Blackwell’s home run.

He has had a difficult time endearing himself to fans since that monumental trade from Atlanta two years ago.  They look like they have a strong case of buyer’s remorse.  The older announcer said.  The Telenet flashed back to a silent and motionless Ricky Blackwell who sat alone on the dugout bench.

Most of the great ones where under-appreciated in their day Dick.  The younger announcer said.

Maybe you should tell him that.  The older announcer said as the Telenet focused on a little boy in red holding a sign that read ‘No machines in baseball.’

◆◆◆

Sergeant Mosley lounged on his camouflaged chair. His feet resting on the dark green plastic casing for the field Telenet screen that he was watching.  The case was a long rectangular box that resembled a map case from years ago.  The Telenet set was stored in the case by being rolled up but the graphene material inside became rigid once an electric current passed through it. 

He took a sip from the camouflaged tropical fruit punched he was drank from and the strained sound of emptiness echoed through the straw.  The Telenet image changed from the opening day of baseball to a commercial showing quick shots of all the different prime time shows featuring the most beautiful of Telenet stars.  White teeth and swirling hair flashed across the screen that contrasted with the dark green and browns of Sergeant Mosely’s world.

Sergeant Mosely!  A yell came from the tent flap.

Mosley jumped as years of military training and instinct took over.  He turned his head towards the open tent flap from which blinding yellow light flooded the dark world of the tent.  The faces of the Telenet stars were blocked by the glare which left only flawless necks and fashionable clothes visible.  As the figure entered the tent and the flap closed behind him Mosley was able to make out the bronze colored thread of a captain’s insignia on the helmet of the man entering.

At ease Dwayne.  The captain said with a smile.

Don’t mess with me like that Alex.  Mosley said.

This is a warzone Sergeant.  We have to stay alert at all times.  Alex said with a bit of sarcasm.

Mosley sat back down on his chair and propped his legs back up on the plastic Telenet case.  Alex pulled up a stool and sat next to the sergeant as both men faced the Telenet set. 

A warzone were you can sit and watch the T.N. all day waiting for something to happen.  Mosely said.

There are far worse warzones than this one.  Alex said.

No...I know...It’s just so boring here.  Mosely responded.

I am just fine with boring. Alex said.

If you want to go to war you go and finish it. If you want to stop this guy Kim-Dong...

Kim Yong-Hwan.  Alex said. 

Whatever.  If you want to stop someone from doing something you have to go in and stop them.  Forming a ring around their country isn’t the way to do it.  Mosely said.

Other countries wouldn’t like that.  Alex said.

Then they should do something about it.  We agree that this guy needs to be stopped but no one can agree on how to stop him.  The sergeant argued.

I think that the whole world is tired of this guy by now.  Alex said.

How can a bloodthirsty dictator walk around with a name like Kim anyway?  Mosely asked.

It’s their family name.  They put their last names first here like in China.  Alex said.

If they are so similar to the Chinese why aren’t the Chinese doing anything to stop them?  Mosely responded.

They are waiting for us to jump first.  Alex said.

Whoever moves first will take the blame for it all.  It looks like this war woke up from its long nap.  Mosely said.

Yeah I think everyone knows that but try telling anyone at the Pentagon.  Alex responded.

Well they need to get their heads out of their asses.  Those people are too poor to afford food much less have tanks and jets.  South Korea could solve it at this point.  How about we all let Korean people take care of Korean problems?  Mosely asked.

It is a crazy world my friend.  Alex quipped.

The Telenet screen changed to a solid green field with borders of red and blue specks of fans in the stadium.  The score for the game flashed over the screen indicating that the Yankees were beating the Cardinals two runs to zero.

Damn.  Who do the Cards have on the mound?  Jameson is still recovering right?"  Alex inquired about his favorite team.

Yeah Jameson is on the mend.  They got Castillo out there but he just gave up a homer.  Sergeant Mosely said as he grabbed a tan plastic bag of pretzels and opened them.

Castillo gave up a home run in the first inning of the opener?  To who?  Alex asked as he waved away the sergeant’s offer of pretzels.  Once he heard the question Mosely looked at Alex and smiled a big wide smile but didn’t say anything at all.

Blackwell?  In the first inning?  I think that this is going to be a hard game to watch.  Alex decided to grab some pretzels after all.

It wouldn’t be that hard to watch if you just came to your senses and rooted for the good team.  The sergeant’s comment was followed by a ground double hit by the Cardinals first baseman.

No way, my father would spin around in his grave if I ever crossed that line.  Alex said as he munched on a handful of stale army issued pretzels.

Besides the Yankees suck.  Alex said with the swagger that any true Cardinals fan would display.

"Don’t go to Brooklyn and say that.  I know some guys that would take you out for saying that.  They aren’t like those good ole