playingball

Playing Ball

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Afterwards nobody could remember whose idea it had been. They were stuck in orbit round the supply base on Nevera Prime, waiting for a delivery of replacement d. crystals. There was never anything much happening on NP, and besides nobody knew enough about the new captain to suggest anything imaginative. So it was decided to hold a picnic-cum-social on grassland in the temperate zone one warm afternoon, and someone suggested a softball game - Engineering v Life Sciences.

The Sun was warm, the punch was growing steadily more alcoholic as the day wore on and the trees were delightfully shady (admittedly they were also a rather bilious shade of purple, but you couldn't have everything).

The game was in its second innings when the Captain strolled over to sit with the batting side.

Messrs Scott and Kyle had been loud in their scorn for a game they both insisted on calling 'rounders', a fact that had led certain incautious souls into betting heavily on Life Sciences. The Captain watched appreciatively as Mr Scott send Medical Orderly Chung's allegedly unplayable spitball into the muddy stream at the other

end of the meadow. As the Engineer sauntered around the bases, the Engineering team held their noses and treated the fielding side to a spirited rendition of Scotland the Brave on the imitation bagpipes.

"I thought you said this was a game only fit for little girls, Mr Scott."

The Engineer dropped onto the grass next to the Captain and grinned. "Oh, it is -- but I had five older sisters and if they wanted to play rounders I did nae get any choice in the matter.

The Captain watched as Mr Kyle sent Medical Orderly Chung's allegedly unplayable curve ball soaring into the forest, whence it was followed by a frankly blasphemous Doctor M'Benga. The Engineers formed an imitation brass band and played Land of Hope and Glory with rather more enthusiasm than tact (or indeed skill).

"You're not going to tell me Mr Kyle has five sisters too?"

Mr Scott dropped onto his back and contemplated the tree above him, his expression rather more than slightly smug. "Schoolboy cricket international; it's an awfu boring sassenach game, but it gives a man an eye for the ball."

Meanwhile on the "plate", a laughing Charlene Masters was holding her bat in an oddly clumsy two-handed manner.

"I hardly like to ask....?"

"Starting pitcher for the Academy Women's Baseball Team."

"Ah."

They watched the game in silence for a few minutes, laughing as the 'band' squabbled over a suitable tune for Lieutenant Masters, eventually settling for 'You must have been a beautiful baby'.

"Not such a bad wee laddie, when you get to know him," thought Mr Scott smiling indulgently to himself. "Look at him, twitching every time they throw the ball." Avuncular benevolence swelled under the combined influence of too much punch and the scent of victory. "Bless the boy, he's just dying to join in." Kirk seemed to like to run an informal ship, but there were limits, even for him. The Engineer settled down to planning what he was going to do with his winnings.

"So, Mr Scott -- how much did you soak them for?"

"I beg your pardon, captain." Instantly wary,

"How much are you going to make on the game?"

Scott did his best to look suitably shocked. "Sir! Gambling is against Regulations!" Captain Pike had never seemed to care about gambling, possibly because he did not know how prevalent it was. Which was fair enough, usually there was no trouble, they were all grown men and women and they all knew their limits. Well, most of them anyway; lately it had been getting out of hand. That business with Bannerman and Tumalu had been... unfortunate.

Kirk looked at him and Mr Scott shifted uncomfortably, the penalties for shipboard gambling were severe.

"Hypothetically speaking, Mr Scott."

Scott seized the circumlocution gratefully. "Well, sir, hypothetically, if I was to do such a thing, I think I'd probably ... take just enough to teach them a lesson, without being quite enough to break their hearts."

Kirk leaned back against the tree trunk apparently satisfied and Mr Scott breathed a sigh of relief. One of the cooks came round with hot-dogs and beer and everyone tucked in. He was just congratulating himself on his escape when the Captain said, in a meditative sort of voice. "I've just been reviewing the ship's record of contributions to the Dependants' Welfare Fund -- I must say I'm impressed. Particularly by the generosity of the Engineering Section -- such a large donation you going to make tomorrow and all at once too."

Mr Scott choked on his hot-dog. The Captain patted him on the back, and waited courteously until he had stopped coughing

"How much?" There was no point whatsoever in trying to argue.

The Captain smiled warmly. "Oh, I think 60% would be fair, don't you?"

It was, Mr Scott was forced to concede, just enough to teach him a lesson, without being quite enough to break his heart.

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