The home stadium of the Void-Walkers was not designed for comfort; it was built to intimidate.
Located on a moon orbiting a collapsing star, the Singularity Dome was made of vantablack metal that seemed to soak up the surrounding light. There were no flashy ads, no cheerleaders, and no mascot. The crowd was a sea of hooded figures sitting in eerie silence.
"It's quiet," Gorth whispered, his voice echoing loudly in the locker room. "I do not like the quiet. Silence is for hunting, not for sport."
Cal tied his cleats. His hands were steady, but his stomach felt like it was flipping. "It's just noise control, Gorth. They're trying to mess with us."
"It's working," the Brontok admitted, gripping his bat so tightly that the wood creaked.
Nex walked to the center of the room and projected a hologram of the opposing team. The Void-Walkers were tall, thin humanoids in suits that glowed with a faint, sickly purple light. They had no faces, just smooth, reflective visors.
"Listen up," Nex said seriously. "The Void-Walkers don't play baseball. They play physics. They don't use wooden bats. They use Grav-Impactors."
He zoomed in on the device held by a holographic Void-Walker. It resembled a glass sledgehammer with a small, swirling black hole in the head.
"When they activate the Impactor," Nex explained, "it creates a localized gravity well. It doesn't just hit the ball; it pulls the ball in and slingshots it out. The faster you throw, the harder they hit. They use your own speed against you."
"So, if I throw a fastball," Cal said, "I'm basically giving them a rocket launcher."
"Exactly," Nex nodded. "Speed is dangerous today, Cal. You have to pitch... differently."
Manager Xylos clacked his mandibles. "Gloob is catching. We need the slime. The organic compound seems to disrupt their graviton fields a bit. It's our only advantage."
Cal glanced at Gloob. The green blob was shaking nervously, creating a small puddle on the floor.
"Ready to get sticky, buddy?" Cal asked.
Gloob formed a shaky thumbs-up.
The game began in silence. The gravity on the field felt heavy—1.5 times that of Earth. Cal felt like he was wearing a lead vest.
He took the mound. The first Void-Walker stepped into the box, casually holding the glass hammer. There was no warm-up swing. He just stood there, a monolith of purple light.
Cal signaled to Gloob. Slimeball. Low.
Cal dipped his fingers into the excess goo on his glove. He wound up and threw a sinker. It wasn't fast—maybe 84 mph—but it was heavy with slime.
The Void-Walker activated his hammer. A low thrum reverberated through the stadium. The air around the plate twisted.
Usually, the gravity well would pull the ball right into the sweet spot, but the slime-covered ball acted unpredictably. It slipped on the edge of the hammer's field.
The batter swung. Whiff.
The hammer sliced through the air with a sound like tearing fabric.
"Strike one!" the drone umpire buzzed.
A wave of unease rippled through the silent crowd. They weren't used to misses.
"Keep it dirty!" Cal yelled to himself.
For five innings, it worked. Cal pitched a shutout, relying solely on off-speed pitches—knuckleballs, sludge-sliders, and the Dead Fish. The Void-Walkers couldn't get a clean hit.
But the physical toll was increasing. The heavy gravity drained Cal's endurance. His human legs burned. Every push off the mound felt like squatting with Gorth on his back.
Top of the sixth. The game was scoreless. The Void-Walkers' pitcher—a being that threw balls of pure plasma—was dominating Cal's teammates. Gorth had struck out twice, swinging past the heat.
Bottom of the sixth. Cal's arm felt fine, thanks to the tech, but his aim was slipping.
He left a curveball hanging.
The Void-Walker captain, a towering figure named Null, didn't miss. He activated his hammer early. The gravity well caught the hanging ball.
CRACK-BOOM.
The sound resembled a thunderclap. The ball didn't arc; it simply disappeared. One second it was at the plate, the next it was blasting through the outfield wall 400 feet away.
1-0, Void-Walkers.
Cal sagged on the mound. In this gravity, a one-run lead felt like ten.
The next two innings were a struggle. Cal kept them to just one run, but his team couldn't touch the plasma pitcher.
Top of the ninth. Last chance.
Krix, the Viperian, led off. He laid down a bunt—a cowardly move by his standards, but smart strategy. His reptilian speed beat the throw.
Runner on first.
Zix struck out. One out.
Gloob was due up, but Xylos called him back. "Pinch hitter!"
The manager pointed to the end of the bench. "Vance! You're up!"
Cal blinked. "Me? I'm the pitcher!"
"We have no bench left!" Xylos screeched. "Gorth is on deck. If you can move the runner, Gorth can bring him home. You played National League rules on Earth, right? You know how to bat?"
"I batted .120 in High-A ball," Cal said, grabbing a helmet.
"Better than Gloob," Xylos said. "Go."
Cal walked to the plate. The gravity pushed down on him. The plasma pitcher locked eyes with him.
The first pitch was a blur of light. 99 mph.
"Strike one!"
Cal stepped out. Okay. Don't swing. Just bunt. Move Krix to second.
He squared up for the next pitch. He got the bat on it. THUNK.
It was a terrible bunt. It popped up in the air.
The Void-Walker catcher—another giant in a suit—lunged for it.
Cal froze. If he caught it, Krix would be doubled off first. Game over.
But the ball was covered in residual slime from Gloob's earlier at-bats. It hit the catcher's mitt and... slipped. It squirted out and landed in the dirt.
"Foul ball!"
Cal exhaled. He was still alive. 0-2 count.
He couldn't bunt with two strikes. He had to swing.
The plasma pitcher wound up. He was going for the kill. High heat.
Cal tightened his grip. He thought about the gravity hammers. He thought about physics.
They use the speed against you.
The pitcher released the ball. It was a mistake. He tried to take something off it to fool Cal, but in the heavy gravity, the plasma cooled slightly. It hung there.
It was a fastball, right down the middle.
Cal didn't try to crush it. He just threw his hands at the ball, using a short, compact swing he'd learned from his dad twenty years ago.
Connect.
The bat vibrated. The ball soared into left field. It wasn't a home run. It wasn't even a double. It was a bloop single.
It landed in front of the left fielder. Krix, hissing with effort, slithered to third base.
Runners on the corners. One out.
And Gorth was coming to the plate.
The Void-Walkers called a timeout. They switched pitchers. They brought in their closer—a behemoth with a gravity hammer arm.
Gorth stepped into the box. He glanced at Cal on first base. Then he looked at Krix on third.
The giant Brontok tapped the plate. He didn't look angry; he looked focused.
The first pitch came in, curving wildly, distorted by the closer's own gravity field.
Gorth swung.
He didn't hit the ball. He hit the field.
The sheer force of Gorth's swing created a shockwave in the heavy atmosphere. The air pressure dropped. The ball, caught in the vacuum of Gorth's bat speed, was pulled into the path of the swing.
KABOOM.
This wasn't a home run. This was an evacuation order.
The ball struck the upper deck of the vantablack stadium with such force that a panel of the roof dislodged and tumbled onto the empty seats.
3-1, Saguaros (or whatever the team name was—let's call them the Galactic Wanderers).
Cal jogged around the bases. He touched home plate, where Gorth was waiting. The giant didn't roar. He just offered a massive, four-fingered hand.
"Good bunt," Gorth rumbled.
"It was a single, Gorth," Cal grinned, out of breath. "A line-drive single."
"Tiny hit," Gorth agreed. "But useful."
Cal returned for the bottom of the ninth. He had nothing left. He threw pure junk—slimeballs, Dead Fish, and Eephus pitches.
The Void-Walkers swung themselves into the ground.
Final out: A ground ball to Gorth. He stepped on the bag.
Game 1 to the humans (and aliens).
As they walked off the field into the stunned silence of the Singularity Dome, Nex tapped Cal's shoulder.
"Don't celebrate yet," Nex whispered, checking his datapad. "I just got the scouting report for the next round. If we survive this series... we have to play on a water world."
"I can swim," Cal said, wiping slime off his jersey.
"Not in methane oceans, you can't," Nex replied. "But first... three more games against the hammers."
Cal looked back at the field. The lights were dimming.