Off Topic
April 6, 2048: Yellow Springs
Setting – Office suite of YS9 GM Ron Collins
[The door slides open.]
Leland Mathews, Asst GM: You wanted to see me boss?
Collins: (sitting back in his chair) Leland. Yes. Come in and take a load off.
(Mathews sits)
Collins: (leaning forward and crossing fingers into a ball upon which he rests his chin) Can I get you anything? A diet Coke, maybe? Or a pillow?
Mathews: Uh … no, boss … I’m fine.
Collins: Are you happy here, Leland? Job going okay? The checks on your $125K a year salary making it to the bank well enough?
Mathews: (swallows) Yeah, boss. What’s this about?
Collins: (looks into the darkened shadow of the corner of his office where suddenly one can see a thin outline of a lithe figure—a woman, probably, but the silhouette is difficult to make out) I think you know, Leland. I think you know.
Mathews: I don’t know nothing, boss. I swear, whatever it is I got nothing going on.
Collins: (swivels his chair quickly, gets up to pace) The team’s not hitting, Leland. Our batting average in six games is an embarrassingly paltry .202, Leland. That’s worse that Des Monies. Worse than Twin Cities. Worse than El Fucking Paso.
Mathews: It’ll turn around, boss, the sample—
Collins: (spinning on his heel) Did you hear me, Leland? I said worse than El Fucking Paso.
Mathews: (lower lip quivering) yeah, boss, I heard you.
Collins: (pressing his hands on the table to peer closer at Mathews) Do you think I’m stupid, Leland? Do you think I just fell off the turnip truck this morning? Did you actually think you could get away with it?
Mathews: I’m sorry. It’s just that—
Collins: Sorry? You’re goddamned right you’re sorry. Making a deal with the goddamned Bluebirds. How much are they paying you?
Mathews: (putting head in hands) I got debts, boss. Big debts.
Collins: (glances to the corner, the silhouette nods almost imperceptibly) I know you do, Leland. I know you were trying to go to school here in the US. (shakes his head) That’s no way to get ahead, man. Shoulda moved to Norway. That stuff's free there long as you pay your taxes.
Mathews: I’m so, so sorry.
Collins: Tell me about it, then, Leland. Tell me about the whole scam. (looks to the corner) And remember that I already know a lot of it.
Mathews: It’s a mind ray, you know? They point it at people and weird things happen. They tried it out first on that McNeill kid. Worked like a charm, you know? Made him go all weird and shit.
Collins: Heard about that.
Mathews: The Bluebirds owner doesn’t care a bit about winning, but like everyone else they’re afraid of Yellow Springs. Or at least jealous. Do anything to make us look bad. Even taking their best prospect and making him look silly as a trial. You know Sammy, man. I know you do.
Collins: He’s a good kid. But you know that’s not what I want to hear about.
Mathews: The hitters. Yeah. Nashville’s got a system set up. Satellite feeds. All the best tech money can buy—gamma-laser system of brain wave distortion, or something like that. It’s trained on the GPS coordinates of Utopia Field’s home plate. When the Nine come to bat, the Bluebird Techs flip it on, and suddenly the guys can’t hit worth shit.
Collins: (shakes his head) Worse than El Fucking Paso. Jebbus, man. Worse than El Fucking Paso. (looks down at Mathews) How did you do it, Leland?
Mathews: (grips the seat) I got them a contractor in the off-season. Quite-like. Let them into Utopia field to coat the steel girders with absorbent paint so it wouldn’t interfere with the system’s rays.
Collins: I see. So now the rays go through the roof, too.
Mathews: They’re really powerful I guess. Created by the Russians back in the day, but augmented now by Bluebird money.
Collins paces.
Mathews: I’m sorry, boss. Really sorry. It’s just that the money, you know, and I had those debts, and … am I fired?
Collins: No, Leland. You’re not fired. Not yet, anyway. If we fire you , they’ll know we’re on to them. But there are a few things you’ll need to do. First of all is to get another contractor to remove that paint on the sly—and I mean now. Tonight.
Mathews: Got it boss. It’ll be tonight if I got to do it myself.
Collins: Good. (stands straight, breathes deeply, exhales slowly, glances again to the dark corner that is now standing empty) We’ll figure out next steps when that’s finished.
