Chapter 7 – A Picture of Fenway

The following morning, the five of them met over breakfast. "I've got today's question – actually, all of them, for the interviewing," Mack began. "Plus I added some possible answers. You just check whatever the candidate says, and then add anything else you think is germane, and then move on. It'll be easy."

Crita gulped. "I, I am still uncertain whether I can interview job candidates."

"You'll be fine," Mack assured her. "Look, these are improvisational jobs, okay? All of us will be wearing tons of hats. You were great when we were being shot at. I think a job candidate or two will be a welcome relief."

"Perhaps," the fluffy woman allowed.

"Daniya, did you get everything done you wanted to, er, do?" asked Mack.

"She is referring," Daniya explained to Wes and Majira, "to the fact that I am carrying some debt and am attempting to sell off some of my possessions in order to cover that. It is," she paused, "going all right. I do not wish to impose and ask anyone for a loan or anything of the sort."

"What are you selling?" asked Wes.

"Clothing and jewelry, mostly."

"Huh," he thought for a moment, "I have, uh, at least I think I have, I have a girl. Or at least I met this girl. I was thinking maybe I could give her something nice. What would you suggest?"

"How long have you known this girl?" Majira inquired.

"Uh, a couple of weeks."

"Nothing too personal, then," Daniya cautioned. "Perhaps a scarf?"

"Ya got any for sale?"

"I just so happen to."

The passageway to the Cookie was filled with people of all shapes, sizes and colors. "Listen up!" Mack yelled. "Follow me in. You all got a number when I sent you the invitation yesterday. Be prepared to show the invitation. No invitation, no admittance, understand? Okay, now, two at a time, please."

The initial processing went fairly quickly – only three people were without numbers. They were turned away, but were given the chance to return if they could present their invitations. "All right," Mack announced as they all walked together. "We're going to a holodeck. We stay together – no wandering off. Anyone who wanders off and goes on an adventure is out. I want to keep you in a cohesive unit. I don't mean to sound threatening, but I need for you to keep together."

The other four instinctively helped herd the candidates to Level Two, where the newly-built holodeck was.

Once everyone was in, Mack turned to face them all again. "My name is Mack MacKenzie. Well, it's Dana, so if you want to look me up professionally, use that name. I don't mind you looking. I played shortstop for the Titan Bluebirds, and sometimes second base. That was a while ago, but I fully expect to be playing alongside you. One thing you should know – there are fifty openings. There are a little less than one hundred people here right now. But that does not mean that your chances are fifty-fifty. Because I'll tell ya, there were another four hundred plus people who requested tryouts. If this entire group does not work out, I've got no qualms about dipping back into that bigger pool."

She looked around her. "That having been said, you look, at least on the surface, to all be in decent shape. This job is to play various sports. One week it might be Parrises Squares. Another might be baseball and then the following week we might be heading to Daranaea for one of their competitions. So look around you! Various sports come with varying physical requirements. Some need for you to be tall. Others need for you to be light. Others require aim, or grace or even heft. But they all have a few things in common – you want to outscore your opponent. You want to defend against your opponent. You want to do all of this while incurring the fewest number of penalties."

There was a bit of nodding. She continued. "You will be divided up into groups of twenty apiece. That unit will work together for the first five days of this week. For the first day, one group will be assigned to me, and the other four will be assigned to each of my associates here."

She introduced Wes, Daniya, Majira and Crita before continuing. "Then we'll have quick interviews each night and then the following day your unit will move to the next one of us. By the time the first five days are up, you'll have been with each of the five of us. On the sixth day, we will deliberate and we may call back people for various reasons. I fully expect to make hiring decisions on the seventh day. Now, I wanna see everybody from numbers one through twenty!"

Nineteen people stepped forward, of various sizes. "Okay, today you're assigned to Crita. Step over here. Now for numbers twenty-one through forty." Mack ended up taking the last group.

"Miss MacKenzie?" asked a human male. He was a big fellow, wearing the uniform of the Starfleet Marine Corps.

"Coach is fine. Uh, yes?"

"What happens if we don't know how to play some of the sports?"

"That's okay," Mack assured him. "Right now, I just want to see basic skills and abilities. We'll work on knowhow once people are hired. Today, we're going to work on some really basic skills. This," she picked up an item from a basket, "is a baseball. It's made of horsehide, it's stitched up and its interior is, uh, well, I have no idea what's actually in there. But for its size, it's a moderate weight – it doesn't feel too heavy or too light. Get hit with one, and it hurts. Catching one is possible with a bare hand but it's not advisable. I highly suggest you use one of these." She picked up a mitt.

"This is a baseball mitt. It comes in both right- and left-handed varieties. This just so happens to be for a righty, which is what I am. Catchers get bulkier ones. But otherwise everybody else gets pretty much the same style. This," she reached into the basket again, "is a bat. It's a Louisville Slugger, and it's made of wood. Here's what happens when bat meets ball." She moved away from the group and then called out, "Computer! Execute Fenway Park program."

The holodeck was instantly transformed into the old Boston ballpark. She was at home plate, facing the outfield. She tossed the ball up a few centimeters and then whacked it with the bat. The ball whizzed by. "That's a line drive. Here's another thing," she hit another ball, but this time she aimed downwards, and it hit the ground fairly close to her and then bounced up and toward the outfield. "That's what's called a Baltimore Chop. I used to hit a lot of those. Here's one more." This time, she popped up. "That's a pop up. Now, we'll work with the bats later, but the first thing we'll do is work with the balls. So here's how we'll start. Computer, give me the MacKenzie Toss Program."

This time, the scene changed to ten lanes that almost looked like they were for lawn bowling, although there were short walls separating them from each other. Each had a basket of baseballs. "Here's what I'd like for you to do. Each team will get two adjacent lanes. Two will throw at a time – one per lane. I want you to throw a baseball as hard and as far as you can. Do that five times. Then the next pair will go, and so on. Once you're done, wait for everyone else to catch up. We will measure. Any questions?" There were none.

Crita watched as a silver Calafan woman and a Xyrillian man tossed. Daniya observed a Bajoran woman and a Cardassian woman hurling the ball. Wes watched a pair of Tandaran men. Majira's charges were both male – a Klingon and an Enolian. Mack's first pair of candidates was the human male who'd asked the first question and a slight woman with floral appendages in her scalp, in lieu of hair.

They watched as people threw. Some were wild. Some were pathetically weak. Others were slow at the task. Finally, everyone was finished. "That was good," Mack praised them. "Of course, there are all sorts of variations in skill levels. I was expecting that. Computer, add strike zones."

"For anyone who knows baseball, you'll recognize what this is. These rectangular lights are meant to show approximately a target. See," she demonstrated on her own body, "pitchers need to be able to throw a ball to any part of the rectangle. For the batter, that zone is about from the armpits to the knees. For fielders, the target is even smaller – it's just the glove of whoever you're hurling to. But those guys are on your team, so they'll move their arms or their bodies in an effort to catch the ball. That doesn't happen with hitters. Now, you may be thinking that I talked about different sports, so why are we spending all our time on baseball. Well, it's the basic skills, like I said. Precision is an awfully nice skill to have. So you'll do what you did before. But this time, you'll only throw about thirty meters or so. Try to hit anywhere within the lit-up rectangle. You'll go in the same order and get the same five chances."

As the candidates threw, the staff took notes. Wesley noticed a Vulcan woman who was able to throw inside the rectangle every time – she was number thirty-seven. He manually drew stars all over her record. "Okay, let's see the next two!" he called out.

Daniya's group contained an Imvari male who could throw hard and far but not too terribly accurately. She noted in his file – this one may be good. He was number fifty-two.

Once the accuracy testing was finished, Mack called out, "Computer! Provide baseball mitts for one hundred people. Make, uh, twenty of them lefty." A large box appeared, with the requested equipment. "Now, everybody take a mitt. If you're a lefty, and I haven't had enough lefty mitts made, speak up and I'll have them changed. Same thing for righties. Same groups! This time you will pair up, so there will be four people working at a time."

The candidates began grabbing for the equipment. One rather large Jem'Hadar pulled a mitt away from the woman with the flowers on her head. Mack came over to him immediately. "What the hell are ya doin'?"

"Coach, I am getting a mitt, as you requested."

"No, you aren't. Don't lie to me. You were grabbing. Now listen up, everybody! I know you're all in competition with each other. I get that. I get that some of you are really eager. That's fine. But what isn't fine is if you push and shove each other and undercut one another! I need for you to become a true team, and that means that you get hired on your own merits, and not because you cut the knees out from under everybody else. Do I make myself clear?"

There were murmurs of assent. Mack corralled the woman with the flowers on her head. "What's your number?" she asked.

"Eighteen."

"Okay, now, I'm not gonna ask for names right now. It's nothing personal. Tell me if he or anybody else grabs from you again, okay? You don't have to sit and take it. I need people of all sorts of dimensions, so just because someone is stronger does not mean that they are necessarily a better candidate. Understand?"

"Yes." The floral appendages waved a bit.

"Now go back to Crita's group, okay?"

"Sure, Coach."

As before, they took notes. Majira noticed that number seventy-one – an Enolian man – had a very good sense of where the ball was going, and could position himself correctly every time. She noted in his file – has a good eye.

Mack's own notes were even more extensive. A Caitian could not throw too terribly far but was a good catcher, opting for spectacular diving displays. A Denobulan was able to throw accurately enough that his catching partner did not have to make too much effort at all.

Once the catching was finished, she called out, "Computer, create fifty Louisville Slugger bats, composed of wood."

Accomplished.

"All right. We're gonna play Pepper. Actually, it's modified Pepper, for Wesley and anybody else who knows how it's really done. You'll keep your current pairings. One person will have a bat. The other will have a glove. The one with the bat will do what I did earlier. That person will toss the ball up maybe a few centimeters and then hit it with the bat. The person with the mitt will attempt to catch the ball. Five hits on each side. Let's go!"

This time, there was some fear, visible on the faces of the woman with the flowers, the Caitian and even the Enolian and the Denobulan. Not everyone caught what was hit at them. Once the groupings were finished, Mack called out, "Okay, that's fine. Take a breather. I know that it can be scary. I have been hit by a baseball more times than I care to remember. No one here is wearing anything too terribly protective, either. So I get that, I do, about how it can be unnerving. But don't despair. Baseball is not the only game, and this is, for a lot of you, the first time you have ever done this. Don't sweat it. I know the first time I fielded, I was pretty scared. I was also a child. None of you are, of course, but the point I'm making is – no one is born knowing how to do this. But you'll get there, I swear. Now let's do it a bit differently. This time, I want to see, uh, hang on. Computer, change back to Fenway Park program."

Accomplished.

"Okay, we'll do this in the same groups of twenty. One person will hit. The other nineteen will field. But we'll do it this way. See those bases? I want one person on each of them. It doesn't matter whom. Now, one more person, stand on the mound – that's the pitcher's mound. One more goes here, between second and third, see where I'm pointing? That's, uh, five. The other fourteen go into the outfield. Spread yourselves out. Now let's play Pepper again. It's anyone's ball. But I want you to call it. Just yell, 'I got it!' Everybody gets five hits and everybody gets five catches. Once you've made it to five catches, and you've hit five times, you're done and you can sit down. All right? Majira's group goes first."

This time, they were a bit more enthusiastic about catching, but the same people lingered and took longer to get their five catches accomplished. Mack ended up moving them to batting and did some catching herself, just to move things along more quickly. She also noticed that same Jem'Hadar. He was overly enthusiastic, and seemed to be hogging the ball.

Mack continued watching and taking notes. There were still some fearful candidates. But a few of the hitters were pretty good. There was a tall Klingon who had particularly impressive power, but kept fouling. She approached him. "Here, let me show you something."

"Uh, all right."

"The angle of the bat," she explained, "is one of the things that decide the direction of the ball. But it's also your power, where in the swing you make contact, your stance – it's lots of stuff."

"Okay," he replied cautiously.

"So here," she demonstrated as she spoke, "I want you to choke up on the bat a bit. Bend your knees a little. Now, you wanna try to use the barrel of the bat when you make contact. You're hear the difference. What's your number?"

"Uh, it's ninety-one."

"Okay, you'll be meeting with me later. So we'll do this, 'cause I know sometimes it can be a little hard to concentrate on your stance and all that other jazz when you're also tossing a ball in the air – particularly when you're not used to doing this sorta thing. So I'll stay to the side, and do the tossing."

"All right." He positioned himself.

She tossed. He missed the first two, and then got into the rhythm. The fourth hit was loud, and it sailed over the holographic representation of the Green Monster left field wall. "Good job!" she enthused, "You just hit a home run!"

"I take it that's good."

"It's one of the best things you can do in this game. Didja hear the difference?"

"I did. The tone is, it's lower, it seems."

"It's solid," Mack agreed. "Okay, you can sit down if you've already fielded. But nice going."

"Thank you, Coach."

Once everyone had gotten a chance to hit and field, Mack stood in front of all of them again. "That was terrific! Now, let's change things up. Computer, switch to an office program – six rooms. Five rooms should have a desk and two chairs. The other room should be a lot bigger, with ninety chairs. For the five rooms with desks, give them all access to outside the holodeck."

The scene changed. "Okay, people, listen up!" Mack called out. "One of each of the five of us," her sweeping gesture encompassed Majira, Crita, Wes and Daniya, "will be in each of the offices. You'll come in one at a time, for whoever's group you're associated with today. It'll be a fast interview – you're only gonna be asked one question. Answer it and you'll be free for the night, and you'll come back tomorrow morning, at the same time as today."

"What about the rest of us?" inquired a Tandaran male who had not spoken before.

"You'll wait in the bigger area. Oh and another thing – tomorrow you'll be assigned to someone else and we'll be doing different drills. So, uh, here, you first," she motioned to a Xindi sloth in her group. "Once each of us finishes, we'll come for the next person. Sit tight until then."

She and the Xindi left for one of the small interviewing rooms as the other four simultaneous interviews were set up and the remainder of the candidates retreated to the larger room.

Crita sat down with the Jem'Hadar. "So," she nervously began, "I have but one question."

"What is it?"

"I, uh, how do you handle losses?"

"Losses? I do not lose." He leveled his gaze at her.

"But surely –"

"No, I do not lose, Daranaean."

"Oh. Uh, thank you. I think we are finished here."

Wes sat down with the woman with the flowers on her head. "How do you handle losses?" he inquired.

"Same as anything else, I suppose. I try to learn from them. I try not to have them happen too often, that sort of thing."

He nodded at her as he typed. "Can I ask you an unrelated question? You, uh, you don't have to answer it."

"Oh?"

"What is your species? I've never seen you before."

"Ah," she smiled as the flowers waved and swayed, "we are called Witannen."

"Where are you Witannens from?"

"The plural of Witannen is Witannen," she explained. "We are from just over into what you refer to as the Delta Quadrant."

"Are the uh –?" he indicated the top of his own head.

"They are called chavecoi."

"Can you control them?" asked Wesley.

"Isn't this supposed to be a short interview?"

"You're right," he conceded, "but thanks for telling me a little bit."

Majira coughed a little before speaking with a younger Tandaran man. "Can you tell me how you handle losses?"

"Just in sports, or in other areas?"

"I don't have specifics," she admitted.

"In sports, I let them roll off my back. I pick myself up and I fight another day. In life, though, it all depends. Some are more difficult to bear than others. But I'm a survivor."

Mack saved the talented Klingon for last. "How do you deal with losing?"

"It is a part of any sport. No one has an undefeated season every single time. I study footage of games."

"Whose footage?"

"My own, or my opponents – all sports have offense and defense. I strive to improve both, if I can."

"There are gonna be weeks when you just play and play. There are also gonna be days when you might be riding the pine."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's an old Earth sports expression. It means sitting on the bench. How do you feel about so many changes?"

"I will manage."

Daniya sat down with a Klingon, certain that the woman with the forehead ridges did not approve of her. "How do you handle losing?"

The Klingon thought for a moment, fingers steepled together. "The most honorable course of action is to learn from one's errors, so that they are not repeated. It is also reasonable to investigate any other possible reasons for a loss, such as injuries, miscommunications, or even improper officiating."

Daniya tapped out notes. The Klingon inquired, "Are you aware of which skills will be showcased tomorrow?"

"You know as much as I do," admitted the green-skinned woman. "Uh, you can go. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Very well." The Klingon departed.

Daniya went into the large common area. The only people who remained were the inner circle. "I guess we're done."

"We are," Mack confirmed. "Same time tomorrow, okay? Just pass me your data tonight, and we'll just go to the next number group. If you had numbers one through twenty today, you get twenty-one to forty tomorrow. I had eighty-one to one hundred so I get one to twenty. We'll just do that for the next few days. Great work, everybody."

They all staggered out, exhausted. There was no need for Mack to go running as she had been racing around all day. She opened a channel. "Martin Madden, on the Enterprise." She settled into bed.

"A moment," replied the relayer. "Go ahead."

"Hey!" she called out.

"How's it goin'?" he asked, smiling.

"So far, so good. We've got a few who really look exceptional. We'll see if any of the others shine in the next few days. I get the feeling the interview questions will help us weed out and decide among the great mediocre majority."

"Good to hear," he replied, "How's your investment going?"

"The Cookie is coming together. The new holodeck works great! I actually have a cabin replicator, finally. I had forgotten just how sweet they are."

"You didn't have one, uh, there?"

"Nope. It's all a part of punishment at Canamar. You don't even get a shred of independence – not even enough to ask a damned machine for a piece of dry toast."

"I shouldn't have asked," Marty stated.

"No, no, that's okay. It's reality."

They were both quiet for maybe a minute. "How're you doing with my investment? I mean really?"

"The team? Oh, I figure some will be really good. I'll try to keep the worst ones off. I'll start to look into getting us a game or something."

"Maybe try a defense base," Marty suggested. "Those guys are always dying for a diversion, and they'd probably like playing you."

"Huh, good idea."

"Just don't let any of 'em hit on you."

"Is that a danger?"

"Let's just say, for some of them, it's been a while. They might not be so polite."

"Got it. I'm not exactly an etiquette specialist, y'know."

"You'll figure it out," he smiled a bit at her. "How's Crusher working out?"

"So far, so good. I kinda like the Boy Wonder. I bet he's dying to pull apart half of the stuff on here."

"I'll tell his mother."

"You're a good soul." She yawned.

"Mystic, you look really beat. We can talk tomorrow."

"Sure, but first tell me, Marty, are things any better there?"

"Uh, half and half." He put a hand out, palm facing the floor, and waved it back and forth a few times.

"Talk to more people, okay? I do worry, y'know."

"I worry about you, Mystic. Don't overdo it."

"C'mon, where's the fun in that?" She smiled a little. "I'll be okay. G'night."

"Good night."

Connection cut, she was too tired to even eat supper, and slept until morning.