Arkwright by Allen Steele Read Free Book Online Page B

carried it well into left field. Campbell had dropped the bat and was leisurely jogging toward first, confident that he’d just scored a home run; meanwhile, the Queens player who’d been on second was already sprinting for third, intent on rounding the bases and getting home.
    Harry Skinner was playing left field for the Panthers, and until now it appeared that he wasn’t going to do much out there except work on his tan. But Campbell’s fly ball was a gift sent special delivery. Harry barely had to strain himself as he ran forward to catch it, and Campbell had just received the bad news from the first baseman when Harry hurled the ball to second, where his teammate got it in his glove just in time to tag the Cometeer trying to get back to where he’d started.
    â€œOh yeah!” Maggie nearly dropped her ice cream as she shot to her feet. “Go, Harry! Forward the Legion!”
    Harry must have heard her above the uproar of disapproval from the Queens fans, who outnumbered the Philly contingent nearly two to one, because he grinned and waved to her. Nat tried not to be jealous, but he had to admit that, if Harry was his rival for Maggie’s attention, he’d just scored a few points. And he looked good too, stripped down to his undershirt, his muscles shining with sweat. Nat had already figured that Harry was a working-class kid; his build was proof that he didn’t spend his days in a shoe store.
    The double play brought a sudden end to the fourth inning, and Harry sauntered in with the rest of his team. On the way, he walked past Sam. Nat saw him say something to the convention chairman, who this afternoon was doubling as captain of the Queens Cometeers; he couldn’t make out the words, but Sam cast him an angry glare, which Harry took with a smug grin.
    â€œWhat did you just say to him?” Nat asked when Harry joined them.
    â€œI just asked if he’d found something to do with all those pamphlets.” Harry was still smiling. “I don’t think he can take a joke.”
    Nat and George shared an upraised eyebrow. It was bad enough that Sam had been forced to extend his amnesty to the teenager who’d openly challenged him in the convention hall just the other day. But Harry had also rubbed it in by volunteering to play for the Panthers. So even though the Philly club was being trounced by the Queens team, Harry was finding a way to get revenge.
    There was a lot of that sort of thing going on today. It wasn’t hard to tell that there was a rivalry between the two fan clubs, and although they’d had dinner together last night at the Wyndham Restaurant—those who could afford the $1 banquet ticket, that is—the conflict between the Futurians and New Fandom was making itself felt on the ball field. In just the first few innings, players had traded sides, rules had been bent, and accusations of cheating had been made. Perhaps this was why most of the writers had fled to Brooklyn: the smart ones like Isaac Asimov wanted to keep above the fray, while the out-of-towners like Jack Williamson didn’t want to get mixed up in what was essentially a turf battle among unruly East Coast teenagers.
    â€œYou’re certainly tempting fate, aren’t you?” Maggie asked, a wry smile on her face. She nodded toward John Campbell, who was wiping his face with a towel as he chatted with some fans. “I mean, he might remember who it was who stopped him from getting a homer.”
    Harry stopped grinning. He gave Campbell a worried look. “I dunno … you think I ought to go over and apologize?”
    â€œIf he rejects stories on the basis of who scores against him in a softball game,” George said, “then he’s a pretty poor editor. Besides, he’ll probably have forgotten all about it by the time you send him another story.” He shrugged. “Either way, I wouldn’t talk to him, if I were you.”
    Sound advice,