By Paul Stansbury
On Saturday, May 16, 2195, at 8:36:31 a.m., Binar stepped out of the shadowy woods into the sunshine. Ultra-rapid micro photovoltaic cells embedded in his composite framework began collecting their energy. Across the way, a ragtag group gathered on the flat square of grass once known as Devol Field. Amid raucous laughter and youthful horseplay, they followed a centuries-old ritual, choosing sides for a game of baseball.
The natural order of things, first articulated by Darwin over two hundred and fifty years earlier, prevailed, and the two biggest boys claimed the role of team captains and started the selections.
Binar increased his audio reception to listen in on their conversations.
“Jugo, catch!” said a tall, burly boy with spiked, black hair. He tossed a bat to the gangly, heavily freckled redhead. Jugo caught it just above the sweet spot, barrel down.
“Your turn, Karl,” he said, holding out the bat.
The starting point established, they took turns placing a hand above the other’s, working up the handle until one covered the knob and won first pick. Then, taking turns accompanied by cheers and groans, the captains selected the remaining players. This continued until the smallest candidate was left. Each captain did a quick tally of his team.
“I got nine,” said Karl. “How many you got?”
“Got nine too,” said Jugo.
“You can have Sam if you want. I’ll pass.” He scowled at Sam. “You’ll never be able to play baseball.”
Sam held up a bright, white baseball. “I got a new baseball. If you let me play, you can use it.”
“Get lost,” said Jugo.
“Lemme see,” said Karl. Sam handed the baseball over. Karl studied it for a moment, then nudged Sam out of the way with the selection bat. He tossed the ball up in the air, and with a swing of the bat, sent it rocketing toward the trees.
The ball sailed over Binar’s head, rattling through the leaves and disappearing into the deep shadows. Binar turned, trying to follow its flight, but the gloom of the forest made it difficult. In the next instant, he heard a dull knock followed by the rustle of leaves.
Karl sneered at Sam. “Naw, maybe you can play find-the-ball with the bumbot over there. We don’t want you hanging around here. Now, get lost and don’t bother us anymore. Oh, and don’t let the bumbot eat you or anything.” Then, he yelled out to Binar, “And I better not see you anymore, you creaking, cast-off combination of composite junk. Humanoid robots have been banned forever. We don’t want your kind around here.” He pointed the bat toward the woods behind Binar. “Now make like a tree and leave, or I’ll beat the chips outta you and have your carcass hauled to Recyke. My old man is the boss down there, and if I tell him to come get you, your ass is grass.”
Under the laughter from the older boys, Binar heard Sam shout, “A little help! Did you see where it went?” Sam bolted forward, stopping about five feet from the robot. Looking up at the intricate combination of sensors, motors, controllers, and actuators, Sam asked, “Well, did you?”
“I believe it went fifteen degrees west of north for eleven meters from where I stand until it struck a tree, changing its trajectory to approximately twenty-three degrees west of south—”
“Could you just point to where it went?”
“I think it would be easier if I helped you look.” Sam squinted at Binar. Sensing apprehension, Binar said, “I assure you robots do not consume humans or pose any other threat.”
Sam took a deep breath and let it whistle out through her lips. “Okay.”
“You are called Sam?” asked Binar.
“Yeah, my real name is Samantha, but everyone calls me Sam. What’s your name?”
“You may call me Binar,” the robot said, examining the petite, blue-eyed girl standing in front of him. Blond curls seeped out from under her ball cap. “You are a female.”
“Of course,” said Sam.
Stepping toward the trees, he said, “The baseball is this way.”
Sam followed Binar into the woods, maintaining a safe distance. Soon, her eyes grew accustomed to the shade. The soft whirring of Binar’s servo motors, combined with the rustle of fallen leaves, replaced the sounds of the pickup baseball game. The sharp, sweet, citrusy odor of pine needles tickled her nose. They walked on for some distance until Binar stopped at a large maple tree. He knocked its surface with a composite knuckle. He turned to the left and continued walking down the gently sloping forest floor. Finally, he stopped. Reaching down, he brushed back the leaves to reveal the baseball. He picked it up. There was a scrape of gray across its smooth white surface, confirming his suspicion that it had careened off a tree. He examined the ball carefully, turning it around and around in his nimble fingers.
Sam shook her head. “Geez, I never would’ve found it.”
“A reasonable facsimile,” said Binar.
“No, it’s a baseball. Throw it here,” called Sam.
“The official major league baseball featured a rubber-coated cork center, wrapped in yarn, covered with two strips of white horsehide or cowhide, and held together by 108 red waxed thread stitches,” Binar said. He tossed the ball up and caught it in his right hand. “It weighed 142 to 149 grams and was 229 to 235 millimeters in circumference. This sphere is light and is barely 225 millimeters in circumference. The cover is obviously a synthetic material and has only 104 stitches. As to its interior structure, I would have to disassemble the sphere to make an accurate determination. All that aside, it is an adequate substitute for the real thing.”
“Hey,” Sam pleaded, “just throw it to me.” She cocked her head and stared at the robot. “You do know how to throw, don’t you?”
Binar cocked his head, “You do know how to catch? Do you not?”
“Sure,” Sam said, forming her right hand into a fist and smacking it into her baseball glove. Then, she held it out for Binar to throw the ball.
With his left hand, Binar motioned for Sam to move back. “Keep going until I tell you to stop; might as well make it worth my while. Watch out for the trees.” Binar allowed Sam to slowly step back until only a narrow corridor through the trees remained between them. “That is sufficient.”
Sam looked at Binar through the narrow gap between the trees. She could see only a sliver of the robot. “No way. Are you sure you can throw it without hitting a tree?”
“I am sure,” answered Binar. “Now, let me see your glove,” Sam held it up. “A little to your right. That is sufficient. Hold still now,” Binar said, shifting his weight to his back foot while drawing his right hand past his head. With a swift, fluid motion, he twisted his torso, sweeping his throwing arm in a perfect arc over his shoulder, and released the ball. In the blink of an eye, it sailed through the narrow, tree-lined canyon into Sam’s glove.
Sam looked inside her glove in disbelief, then ran to join Binar. “Wow, how’d a bumbo—I mean robot—learn to throw like that?”
“I am not a bumbot. I am an Abner.”
“A what?”
“An Abner 2000, a robot designed and built to play baseball. Some people called us Abners, Others called us basebots. I prefer to be called an Abner.”
“I never heard of one of those.”
“Of course not. The era of robot baseball was over more than one hundred years ago,” said Binar.
“My Grandpa isn’t even that old. You’re kidding me, aren’t you? That’s not nice.”
“Abners do not kid. You can search Webopedia and find out all about basebots and the RBL, the Robot Baseball League. It ended when robots in human form were banned.”
“But—”
“Come. I will guide you back to the ball field.”
Sam looked down, speaking softly, “Oh, you can go, but I think I’ll stay here a while. It’s nice and peaceful.”
“You do not want to join the others?”
“Naw, they don’t want me hanging around. They say girls aren’t any good at baseball.”
Binar shook his head. “Some things never change.”
“But, I could get better if they would let me play and learn.”
“A conundrum of grand proportions,” said Binar.
“Whatever. I’d go home, but I would have to cross the field, and they wouldn’t like that.”
“I understand. It is a difficult experience, not to be wanted. Especially when it is connected to an activity for which one has an inclination. How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“It is certain I cannot leave you alone in these woods, so we must agree to another course of action.”
“Like what?” asked Sam.
“Where do you live?” asked Binar.
“2695 Landis Drive.”
“We will walk through the woods, circumnavigating the ball field, until we reach the picnic shelter. From there, you should be able to proceed unaccompanied one point six kilometers to your home.”
“I got another idea,” said Sam. “Where do you live?”
“My dock is nearby.”
“Can we go there?” pleaded Sam. She glanced back toward the field. “At least until they leave?”
“For what purpose?” asked Binar.
“Mom isn’t expecting me home till lunch time. If I go home now, she’ll ask a bunch of questions I don’t wanna answer. I haven’t got anywhere else to go, so I thought maybe I could stay with you till it was time to go home. It beats sitting out here all alone.”
“People, mothers included, will always ask questions we would prefer not to answer. Hiding from them only postpones the inevitable.” Sam frowned, pounding the baseball in her glove. “What time is your mother expecting you for lunch?” asked Binar.
Sam bowed her head, dragging the toe of her sneaker through the leaves. “It’s okay. I’ll find my way back. You can go on with whatever it was you were doing.”
“You have not told me when your mother expects you for lunch.”
“Around noon.”
“It is now 8:48:51 a.m.,” said Binar. “That leaves three hours, eleven minutes, and nine seconds before you are required to arrive at 2695 Landis Drive. I have rounded off the subseconds. This period is too long for you to remain alone. I will take you to my dock. It is not very much to see. I think you would find it most boring.”
“I don’t care.”
“Then, follow me.”
* * *
“This is my dock,” Binar said, rolling up the door of an old maintenance building. He gestured for Sam to go in. “We shall remain here until 11:44:19 a.m. After you.” Sam hesitated, looking into the black interior of the small, windowless, brick structure. “Illumination. You will need illumination,” said Binar.
“It would help,” said Sam.
“A switch is located by the door. Let me activate it. Let us hope the light-emitting diodes are operative.” Binar stepped inside and flipped the switch. Instantly, bright light glinted off his composite body. “Is this sufficient, or do you require additional illumination?”
“That’s fine,” said Sam. “Are there spiders?”
“Only friendly ones,” said Binar.
Sam stepped inside, looking all around the cramped interior. There were a few spider webs tucked along the rafters, but none were close enough to worry about. To her left, workbenches lined the walls. Neatly arranged electrical and mechanical equipment occupied their surfaces. Various tools hung above on the walls. At the other end, sat an old, dusty cart and something covered with a filthy tarp. “Wow, this looks like a museum.”
“It has not been used by humans for decades.”
“And you live here?”
“Technically, robots do not live. I dock here.”
“Dock?” asked Sam.
“I station myself here when I am not active. I also perform self-maintenance and non-solar charge if needed.”
Sam looked around again. “Where’s your bed?”
“I do not lie down, unless I am diving for a fly ball.” Binar studied Sam for a moment. “Of course. You need something to rest upon.” He walked over and rolled back the tarp, revealing an old lawn tractor. “This should do.” He picked it up and set it down in front of Sam. “Climb on.”
Sam took a step back. “Gosh, that thing must weigh a ton,” she gasped.
“226.39 kilograms to be exact,” said Binar. “Of course, the fuel supply container is empty. You may sit here,” he said, patting the seat. Then, he straightened his body, looked forward, and became still.
Sam dropped her backpack on the ground, then climbed onto the tractor and took a seat. She waited for Binar to say something. The robot remained still and silent. Sam waited a few minutes before she said, “I thought maybe we could talk or something.”
Binar turned his head. “Excuse me, I went into power saving mode. What do you desire to talk about?”
“Baseball.”
“The official major league baseball featured a rubber-coated cork center, wrapped in yarn, and covered with two strips of white horsehide or cowhide, held together by 108 red waxed thread stitches—”
“No, no. You already said that. I mean, I want you to tell me about baseball. You know what it was like to play baseball back then.”
“Do you have an electronic viewing device with Bluetooth in your backpack?”
“Yup”
“May I retrieve it?”
Sam nodded. “Sure. What you gonna do?”
“I thought I might show you,” Binar said, searching Sam’s backpack. “This should perform the required task,” he said, pulling out Sam’s rollup computer and handing it to her. “Now, power up and pair with me.”
Sam turned the device on and touched the capacitive fingerprint reader. “What device name should I use?”
“A-2-0-0-0-a-v-g-4-5-0.”
Sam raised her eyebrows. “There you are.” She tapped the screen, and a baseball game began streaming. The teams were lined up on the base paths while an organ played the National Anthem.
“Have you got the whole game in your head?” asked Sam.
“I have all my games in my data storage. I record everything. This is the New York Mechs versus The Boston Red Bots. June 13, 2047, at New Fenway Park. I played right field for the Bots,” said Binar.
Sam magnified the image on the screen. “They don’t look like robots.”
“That was before the android purge of 2079. Prior to that, robots could be built in human form.”
“Why did they have to stop?”
“Politics. Far too complicated to explain in the time we have. I believe you would be more entertained by watching games. All the android players were covered in the finest syn-skin. We had the finest uniforms and the finest equipment. Everything was top grade. And the names. What grand names we had. Baseball names. Names like Mickey Mechanical, Bot Ruth, Ty Cog—”
“Those are weird.”
“They are portmanteaus of twentieth-century baseball greats. Of course, you would not know of those legendary players.”
“What’s a portman’s toe?”
“A portmanteau is a word blending the sounds and combining the meanings of two others. The word brunch, from ‘breakfast’ and ‘lunch’, is an example.”
Sam shrugged. “Whatever. So, what was your name?”
“Roboto Clemente.”
“I’ll call you Binar if that’s okay.”
* * *
“It is 11:44:19 a.m. Time for me to escort you back for lunch,” said Binar.
“Do we have to?” asked Sam.
“Yes.”
“Okay, but do we have to go by the ball field?”
“If we are to reach your home by noon, yes,” replied Binar.
Nine minutes later, Sam and Binar stepped out from the woods onto the grass of the ball field. Sam followed Binar along the perimeter of the outfield. They had reached centerfield when they heard shouting.
“I thought I told you to stay away from here,” bellowed Karl. He charged across the infield toward Binar and Sam. The rest of the boys followed, hooting and hollering. Karl waved a bat in a circle above his head while he ran. “I’ll take care of you, robot, and the little runt too.”
Binar stepped in front of Sam. “Stay behind me.”
Karl continued at a dead run until he was almost on top of Binar. At the last moment, he leaped into the air, raising the bat over his shoulder and swinging it down at the robot’s head.
“Watch out,” screamed Sam.
Binar stepped to the side, catching the barrel of the bat with his right hand and stopping its motion in midair. Karl held fast to the handle, but his momentum lifted him until he was parallel to the ground. Losing his grip, he fell, landing with a thud, air blasting out of his lungs. At the sight of Karl gasping for air on the outfield turf, the rest of the boys stopped dead in their tracks.
Binar glared at them before he flipped the bat, catching it by the handle. In a swift, smooth motion, he raised it above his head before ramming it into the ground, burying it to the knob. Dropping to one knee, he covered it with his hand. “I win,” he said. “Are there any objections?”
Having caught his breath, Karl scrambled over to the relative shelter of Jugo and the other boys. “That’s assault with intent to kill,” he groaned. “You’re done for, bumbot.”
Sam peeked around Binar and shouted, “Shut up, Karl.”
“After bumbot here goes to the crusher at Recyke,” growled Karl, “you won’t have anyone to protect you. Then, you’ll get what’s coming to you.”
Binar kept watch on Karl and the boys. “Sam, time to go, you’re already late.”
“But they’ll get me.”
“Do not worry, I will accompany you home. No one will bother you.”
One of the boys sent a baseball whizzing at Sam. Binar flicked his left arm down and plucked the ball from the air. Like before, he examined the ball carefully, turning it around and around in his hand. “This sphere is not regulation,” he said, crushing it flat between his thumb and forefinger. “Do you want me to check any others?”
“And that’s destruction of private property,” growled Karl. He balled up a fist, taking a step toward Binar. Jugo grabbed his arm. “Don’t be a fool, Karl. Let them go for now. There’s better ways to deal with droid scum.”
* * *
“It is 12:00:00 p.m.,” said Binar. “You are now late for lunch. At our current velocity, we will reach 2695 Landis Drive in four minutes and thirty-seven seconds.”
Binar and Sam turned down Landis Drive and continued walking. Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, they stood in front of a mailbox. ‘2695’ blinked on its LED display. “Shall I explain to your mother the circumstances of your delay?”
“Naw,” said Sam. “She’ll be okay.”
The piercing sound of a pulsating electronic buzzer interrupted their conversation. Binar looked up to see the arrival of a mobile Recyke crusher.
“Go inside, Sam,” said Binar.
“What’s happening?”
“It seems there is no end to Karl and his friends’ mischief. I believe this Recyke representative has some business to conduct with me.”
“But—”
“No time for lengthy explanations. Please go inside, Sam, your mother must be waiting.”
Sam looked at the expressionless array of sensors and such serving as Binar’s head. She shrugged. “Okay, if you say so.” She scampered up the sidewalk, hopped up on the porch, and disappeared through the front door.
A thick, balding man in grimy coveralls got out of the vehicle. His embroidered name patch read ‘Otis.’ “Hold it right there,” he said. “I’ve got a TEDD, and I won’t hesitate to use it if you cause any trouble.”
“There is no need for a transient electromagnetic disturbance device,” said Binar. “It would most certainly disrupt communications and damage electronic equipment in the immediate area. What is it you want?”
Before he could answer, Karl, Jugo, and the others came trotting up the sidewalk. “That’s the bumbot,” Karl yelled. “That’s the one that tried to kill me. You can ask any of these guys.”
Binar pointed toward Karl. “That young man threatened my companion and attempted to damage me with a baseball bat. My actions were strictly defensive on behalf of my companion and myself.”
“It’s lying,” said Karl. “Ain’t it guys?”
“—Yeah—Sure—Crush it—That’s right—”
Otis held up a hand. “All right, pipe down. I’ll decide who is lying and who ain’t.” He looked at Binar. “Was your companion that kid who ran into the house?”
“She ain’t its companion,” said Karl. “The scum droid kidnapped her. We saw it. That’s why I was trying to save her when it attacked me. You musta frightened it when you drove up, and she got away.”
“I cannot be frightened,” said Binar.
Otis pointed the TEDD at Binar. “Shut down or I’ll set this off.
At 12:09:11 p.m., Binar straightened, then became still.
Otis looked at Karl. “You gotta be Smasher’s kid.”
“Hurry up and stuff that thing in the crusher or I’ll tell my old man you were sitting around picking your nose,” said Karl.
Otis shook his head. “You’re his kid alright. Is what you said about the droid kidnapping that kid true?”
“Sure.”
“Okay then. Let me get a dolly.”
A woman emerged from Sam’s house. She took up a position at the edge of the porch, hands on hips. “What is going on here?”
Otis stopped and turned in the direction of the voice. He ogled the petite blond woman. “Official Recyke business, lady.” He paused, curling his lips into a salacious grin. “Anything I can help you with?”
“I doubt it,” she said. “And what official business do you have with this robot?”
“You the little girl’s mom?”
“I am Sam’s mother, Carol Capek. Now will you answer my question?”
Otis cocked his head. “I guess she was too scared to tell you, but this bot tried to kidnap your daughter, and he also attacked these poor boys. Under the Humanoid Prohibition Act of 2079, a robot resembling a human or committing a crime is to be destroyed. This one is guilty on both counts—that’s my official business.”
Sam appeared in the doorway, still wearing her backpack. She tugged her baseball cap tight on her forehead. “Mom.”
Carol pointed a finger at the Recyke drudge. “You wait a minute.” She walked back to Sam, leaned down, and whispered, “What is it, dear?”
“They’re gonna kill him. Don’t let them do it,” she pleaded softly.
“Are you sure about everything you told me?”
“Yes.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about. Remember, I have already called the police. I won’t let anything happen until they arrive. Now you stay here while I take care of business.”
“Okay.”
Carol flew off the porch and across the yard, ending up nose to nose with Otis. “I think this is official baloney. Who gave you the authority to do this?”
“Listen, lady, all I know is Smasher told me to come over here and crush some bot that had attacked his kid and kidnapped a little girl.”
“Is he the manager at Recyke?”
Otis looked down. “Well, no.”
“What is he then?”
“He—uhh—runs the big crane down at the yard.”
Carol threw her hands up. “Runs the—”
A siren blared as an Engleberg police hover car whooshed down the street and stopped beside them. Otis stuffed the TEDD in his pocket.
“Who’s the idiot that called the float-a-cop?” moaned Karl.
Carol waited until the officer, a diminutive woman with a tawny complexion, stepped out of the cruiser before she said, “Officer, I’m so glad you’ve come. My name is Carol Capek. I’m the person who called.”
“I’m Officer Maria Futura, Ma’am.” She looked at Otis. “And who are you?”
“Otis.”
“I can see that on your name badge. What is your full name and your reason for being here?”
“Oh, Otis Alden Flenk. I work down at Recyke. Smasher told me to bring the mobile crusher up here and crunch a bot what had attacked his kid and kidnapped a little girl.”
“Hold it right there,” said Officer Futura, pulling a notebook and pen from her pocket. “Who is Smasher?”
“He runs the big crane at Recyke,”
“And does he have a name other than Smasher?”
“Clarence Grune.”
“Okay,” said Officer Futura. “I need to get some information. Let’s start from the beginning. You first, Ms. Capek.”
* * *
“So, neither one of you actually saw what happened at the ball field?”
“That’s right,” said Otis. He pointed toward Karl and his companions. “But them kids was there. The bot attacked the big one. He’s Smasher’s kid. I think the little girl was there too. I think she’s hiding in the house. Probably scared to death of the bot.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” squawked Karl. “We was minding our own business when we saw the scum droid carrying the little girl off to the woods. She was screaming something terrible. I tried to stop it, but the thing attacked me.”
“That’s a serious allegation,” said Officer Futura. “I think the best course of action is to take the robot into custody and hold it in lockup until the situation can be resolved.”
Carol glared at Karl. “The little girl is my daughter, Samantha, and she is not scared of the robot. She is scared of you and your hooligans. Officer Futura, you need to talk with Samantha.”
“How old is Samantha?”
“Samantha is ten.”
Officer Futura pursed her lips. “That may be a problem. Witnesses at that age sometimes provide questionable information. They get confused easily. I think I better take the robot into custody and let them sort it out downtown.”
Carol clasped her hands together. “Please reconsider, Officer Futura. You can trust Samantha. Before you decide to take the robot into custody, at least see what she has to say.”
“Don’t listen to her,” shouted Karl. “You can’t believe that kid. She’s just a little girl. I told you what happened. Besides, she’s mad we wouldn’t let her play ball with us.”
“What’s your name?” asked Officer Futura.
“Karl.”
“I take it Smasher—err—Clarence Grune is your father?”
“Yeah.”
Officer Futura looked him in the eye. “Well, Karl, it seems you’re a bit too anxious that I not talk with Samantha.”
Karl scrubbed a hand over his face as he muttered, “No.”
Officer Futura turned to Carol. “Ms. Capek, young Mr. Grune has convinced me to talk with your daughter.”
Carol let out a huge breath. “Thank you.” Then, she called out to Sam. “Honey, Officer Futura would like to talk with you. Will you come here?”
Sam stepped out of the shadow of the doorway. “Not until they turn Binar on.”
Carol looked at Officer Futura and shrugged her shoulders, “Binar is the bot’s name. Well?”
Otis waved his hands back and forth. “No, no, you can’t do that. The bot was intent on mayhem. It’ll go berserk and kill us all.”
“How’d you shut it down in the first place?” asked Officer Futura.
“I asked it to shut down. I guess it realized it was no use to refuse.”
“You asked it?” Officer Futura rolled her eyes. “Seems to me a bot intent on mayhem wouldn’t have complied.”
At 12:41:37 p.m., Binar said, “Most assuredly so.” At the sound of Binar’s voice, Otis fainted. Officer Futura put a hand on her stunner.
“My name is Binar, and you have no need to worry, Officer Maria Futura,” Binar said. “I am governed by the Three Laws of Robotics.”
Officer Futura lifted her hand. “So, you pretended to be shut down?”
“I went into power saving mode, whereby I could monitor all activities until you arrived.”
“You knew I was on the way?”
“Yes, I heard Ms. Capek make the call.” He called out to Sam. “Everything is safe now. Will you join us?”
Carol raised her hand, beckoning Sam. “It’s okay.” Once Sam joined them, Carol said, “Sam, this is Officer Futura. She wants you to tell her what happened.”
Officer Futura knelt down, looking Sam in the eye. “I’ve heard so many different things about what happened this morning; I was hoping you could tell me what really went on.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Sam said. She looked at Binar. “You still record everything, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
Sam pulled her backpack off and dug out her rollup computer. “Officer Futura, instead of listening to me, why don’t you watch what happened?”
Hearing that, Karl turned to Jugo and the others. “We better get out of here,” he said, retreating down the sidewalk.
“Where are you going, Mr. Grune?” asked Officer Futura.
“I think I heard my mom calling,” said Karl. “Gotta go.”
“Hold it right there. You’re not going anywhere until I say so, and that goes for your buddies also.” She looked at Sam. “Now what is it you want to show me?”
* * *
At 13:07:36 p.m., Binar said, “Those are the pertinent recording excerpts documenting the events that transpired between 8:36:31 a.m. and 12:14:07 p.m. when you arrived. It will take two hours, eleven minutes, and nineteen seconds to review the skipped parts.
“No, I’ve seen all I need to,” said Officer Futura. “All you kids, except for Karl, I’m letting you off with a warning. Don’t pull anything like this again or I’ll personally escort you to Juvie. Karl, you’re getting an e-cite. It’ll have your court date on it. Now, vamoose.”
Otis wiped his brow. “Wow, who’da thunk those kids would lie like that. I’d like to stay, but I got to get back to the yard.” He started to roll the dolly back to the crusher.
“Not so fast, Mr. Flenk,” barked Officer Futura. She held out her hand. “Gimme the TEDD.”
Otis raised his eyebrows. “TEDD?”
“I saw you threaten Binar with it. Possession of a TEDD is prohibited. Now hand it over or you get cuffed.”
Otis pulled the TEDD out of his pocket and handed it over. “I don’t know anything about this thing. It belongs to Smasher.”
Officer Futura scowled at Otis. “Count your blessings. I ought to haul you downtown, but I’m releasing you on your own recognizance. Do you know what that means?”
“I can go back to the yard?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry though; you’ll be receiving an e-cite. My advice to you is get a good lawyer and put on a fresh shirt when you go see the judge.”
“Wadda I tell Smasher?”
“Tell Mr. Grune I will be visiting him after I leave here. Now, get outta here.”
Otis lumbered over to the mobile crusher, scrambled aboard, then roared off down the street.
Carol placed her hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Honey, why don’t you show Binar your room while I speak with Officer Futura.”
“Okay,” said Sam, taking Binar’s hand. “Watch when you go up the steps. You don’t want to trip on them.”
“Sound advice,” said Binar.
Once Binar and Sam went inside the house, Officer Futura said to Carol, “I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble out of those kids or those two idiots from Recyke. If you do, give me a call.”
“Will do,” said Carol.
“Ms. Capek, did you know Engelberg has a youth baseball league? The P.D. sponsors teams.”
“Why don’t we have a team?”
“I guess there hasn’t been anyone willing to organize one,” said Officer Futura.
“I will. Who do I contact?” asked Carol.
“I’ll find out and give you a call. If you are serious, I’ll help.”
“Thanks, that’s great.” Carol bit her lip. “One more thing, Officer Futura, can you tell me what’s going to happen with Binar?
“Call me Maria. As far as I can tell, it—he hasn’t violated any city ordinances. So, as far as I am concerned, he can go on his way.”
Carol frowned. “It’s a shame.”
“What’s that?”
“That he sits out there alone in the woods all day, every day. Seems like there should be something he could be doing other than sift through his memories.”
“Well, if we put our heads together, maybe we can do something about that also.”
* * *
On Opening Day, Saturday, April 30, 2196, at 9:57:42 a.m., Binar stood under a cloudless sky surveying the scene at the newly renovated Devol Field. Spectators filled the bleachers, cheering between mouthfuls of popcorn and soda. After the National Anthem finished, the announcer said, “Welcome to today’s game between the Bandits and the Daredevils.” The youth league players, lined up on either basepath, dispersed. The home team took the field while the first batter for the visiting team sauntered up to the batter’s box.
Sam crouched behind home plate, then pulled her facemask down. She smacked a fist into her dusty mitt to signal she was ready. Then, Binar adjusted his short bill umpire’s cap and took his position behind Sam. At 10:00:00 a.m., he pointed toward the pitcher and roared, “Plaaaaaaay Ball!”
Paul Stansbury is a lifelong native of Kentucky. He is the author of Inversion – Not Your Ordinary Stories; Inversion II – Creatures, Fairies, and Haints, Oh My!; Inversion III – The Lighter Shades of Greys; Inversion IV – Another Infusion of Speculative Fiction; and Down By the Creek – Ripples and Reflections. His speculative fiction stories have appeared in a number of print anthologies as well as a variety of online publications. Now retired, he lives in Danville, Kentucky. www.paulstansbury.com www.facebook.com/paulstansbury/