Galaxy Blues by Allen Steele Page B

could stop me, I opened my door and hopped out. For a few moments I stared at the field, utterly surprised by what I’d found.
    Four bases, with white powder lines running between them, a small mound within the center. Bleachers behind the first and third bases, and a tall chain-link fence forming an open-sided cage just behind home plate. Small wooden sheds on either side of the cage, with wood benches inside each one. And from the top of the cage, a blue-and-gold pennant that rippled in the morning breeze:
    Beak ’Em, Boids!
    â€œWell, I’ll be damned,” I murmured. A baseball diamond. Of all the things I’d least expected to see on Coyote…
    â€œOh, that?” Goldstein had followed me from the limo. “Belongs to the university team. The Battling Boids.” A disinterested shrug. “Next week they go up against the Swampers, or whatever they’re called…”
    â€œThe Fighting Swampers.” Mike Kennedy gazed at us from the open window of the limo. “From Petsloc U.” He pronounced it as pets-lock .
    â€œThe People’s Enlightenment Through the Spirit of Social Collectivism University.” Goldstein shook his head. “Not much of a school, really. More like a small liberal arts college set up by some unreformed social collectivists. But they’ve got a pretty good ball team…”
    â€œAre you kidding?” Kennedy laughed out loud. “Boss, they stink. Half the time, they’re arguing over who’s most politically correct to play shortstop…”
    â€œNever mind.” Goldstein was obviously amused by my reaction to something as trivial to him as a baseball diamond. “If I’d known you were such a sports fan, Jules, I would’ve mentioned this earlier.”
    I bit my lip at his condescension, but said nothing. Although I’d read as much as I could about Coyote before making the decision to defect, I hadn’t a clue that baseball was played there. And for those of us who truly love the game, it isn’t just a sport; it’s a fixation nearly as consuming as sex, drugs, or religion, albeit with none of the unpleasant side effects. When I left Earth, I had thought baseball one thing I would be leaving behind. In hindsight, I should have known better. Humankind always carries its culture with it, and no place is truly habitable unless it has baseball.
    â€œI think…” I let out my breath. “I think I’m going to like this place.”
    â€œHmm…well, so long as we’re here, there’s something else I’d like to show you.” Goldstein touched my elbow. “Take a walk with me?”
    It didn’t sound like a request, but after two days floating around in a lifeboat and another cooped up in a jail, any chance to stretch my legs sounded like a fine idea. I nodded, and Goldstein turned to begin walking toward the university. As we crossed the road again, he raised a hand to Kennedy, gesturing for him to remain behind.
    He said nothing as we cut across campus. The Colonial University was a little larger than it appeared from the road. Some of the buildings were taller than others, and someone had obviously devoted some time and effort to landscaping. Shade trees lined gravel walkways, with benches and abstract sculptures placed here and there; students strolled between buildings, chatting among themselves, or sat alone beneath trees, engrossed in their books and pads. We sauntered past a kidney-shaped pond, where an elderly woman was holding an open-air seminar with a dozen or so pupils. None appeared much younger than me, and I felt a twinge of envy. Before things had gone sour for me, I could have been one of them. An academic life, shielded from the realities of the larger and sometimes very harsh world.
    We’d reached the far side of the campus and had walked up a small hill overlooking the pond, when Goldstein came to a halt near a tree-shaded bench. “Over