Arkwright by Allen Steele Read Free Book Online Page A

ball in many years, perhaps even since grade school.
    â€œProbably,” he replied, keeping his voice low. Maggie quietly laughed, and Nat gave himself points for saying something funny. He’d been disappointed to have taken the El all the way out to Queens just to find that most of the authors had gone to Brooklyn instead, but the fact that the Legion of Tomorrow had come out for the ball game made up for it.
    Well, no … he had to admit, it wasn’t just the Legion he was glad to see again but Maggie Krough in particular. She looked good this afternoon, in tan cotton slacks and a sleeveless light-blue shirt that showed off her figure. The way other fans kept glancing in their direction made him realize that he was fortunate to be sitting beside her, even if he did have share her with the two other guys.
    â€œStrike two!”
    Campbell didn’t swear this time, but the expression on his face hinted his regret at letting himself get pulled into this.
    â€œI think you may be right,” Maggie said, and Nat was about to add something when she glanced past him. “Oh, thank you, George, that’s very kind of you.”
    Nat looked around to see George Hallahan return from a nearby pushcart with a couple of ice-cream cones. “My pleasure,” he said as he carefully handed the chocolate one to Maggie, keeping the vanilla for himself. “Sorry, Nat,” he said as he sat down beside them. “Only have two hands.”
    â€œYou mean you can’t grow another one?” Nat asked.
    â€œNot even at the science fiction softball game.” George shifted his fedora to the back of his head as he licked the top of his cone. “Speaking of which, what have I missed?”
    Nat hadn’t been keeping track of the game. He gazed over at the scoreboard. It was being tended by the kid from California he’d met the other day—his name was Bradbury, he’d learned this morning, Ray Bradbury—and he’d looked like he was getting ready to change the number of Os in the Visitors box from two to three. “Queens is up seventeen to seven,” he said, “but I don’t think they helped themselves very much by pulling Campbell out of the bleachers to bat an inning.”
    â€œWell.” George shrugged. “As I said, it’s supposed to be a science fiction game.”
    Nat gazed at the convention members with whom he’d traveled to the Meadows. None of the writers he’d seen Sunday morning were here; besides Campbell, the only author he recognized was Ross Rocklynne, who apparently hadn’t heard that most of his colleagues were in Brooklyn. He wondered why Campbell had bothered to show up. Good public relations with the fans, he supposed. After all, they were the ones who bought the magazine. All the same, he expected that Campbell would quietly excuse himself once he’d met his obligation as a celebrity player and head down to Brooklyn to meet with his authors.
    Still, the setting was scientifictional enough. Out past right field, beyond the low fence that bordered the diamond, lay the World’s Fair. The Perisphere and the Trylon towered above the pavilions, reflecting pools, and promenades of the fairgrounds, symbols of the fantastic world that awaited everyone if only they could pull themselves out of the Depression and, with any luck, avoid getting into another European war. When the game was over, everyone was supposed to go over there to have dinner and watch the Fourth of July fireworks, the last official activity of the World’s Science Fiction Convention. Nat had already visited the fair, but he was looking forward to going again—this time, he hoped, with Maggie on his arm.
    If she didn’t find someone else instead.
    The sudden crack of the bat brought his attention back to the field. Campbell had managed to hit the ball on his third try. It sailed up and over third base, describing a parabolic trajectory that