Sam's constant badgering and laughter finally woke anger inside of Colin's mind. The feeling of embarrassment added fuel to his frustrated fire and he had the strong urge to throw a fastball right at Sam's head. But he didn't.

Use this anger in a good way, he told himself. If you hit him with a pitch, nobody will believe you did it on purpose. They'll just think you can't control what you throw.

"I think I can get this one over the plate," he said, feigning an intimidated tone of voice.

"I wouldn't count on it," Sam called back.

When Colin got the ball back from the catcher, he concentrated on using the proper two-fingered grip for a fastball. He realized the mistake he made on the first pitch, figuring out how to compensate on the downward motion he used from atop the mound. Again, he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax.

"Some time this year would be great," Sam yelled, making sure all of his teammates could hear.

Before Sam even realized what happened, Colin threw a fastball right by him, the white blur whizzing by, followed by the pop of the catcher's mitt. It was the sweetest sound Colin ever heard, even sweeter than the sound of Sam's surprised silence. Unfortunately, that second sound did not last long.

"Lucky pitch," Sam yelled out. "He could have at least waited until I was ready."

"I think that's strike one, Sam," Ted called out from right field.

Colin heard chuckling from some of the players. Sam also heard the laughter, as his pale white skin turned the deepest shade of red that Colin ever saw. A small part of him felt bad for embarrassing the kid but he had it coming. Besides, Sam didn't stay quiet long enough for Colin to feel sorry.

"Come on, you little punk," he yelled from the plate. "I'm paying attention now. Try throwing another one by me."

Sam dug into the batter's box and glared at Colin, who remained deeply focused. He imagined this must be how professional pitchers felt in intense situations.

Again, Colin gripped the ball and concentrated on the catcher's mitt. He wound up and fired, hurling the fastball by Sam a second time. Sam barely moved the bat from his shoulder by the time the ball was in the catcher's mitt.

More laughter from the team. This time, half the players reminded Sam that he now had two strikes. Sam did not say another word, just stared at Colin with contempt.

When Colin got the ball back from the catcher, he placed his fingers in a different position. He was not as confident in his ability to throw this other pitch but if there was one thing he learned from years of watching baseball, it was never to throw the same pitch three times in a row. The surprise of how hard an eleven-year-old could throw was over and Colin knew he had to use his baseball smarts to stop Sam from getting a hit.

A split second before he released the third pitch, Colin could tell by Sam's reaction that he already had the strikeout. Sam flinched early, beginning the motion of his swing before Colin let go of the ball. By the time the curveball dipped into the dirt in front of the plate, Sam had already finished his swing. In fact, he swung so hard, and was so fooled by Colin's pitch selection, that he completely lost his balance. He twirled all the way around and fell on his backside.

The rest of the team congratulated Colin, still surprised to see that such a young kid could make one of their own look so silly. Colin threw batting practice to a couple of the other guys on the team. He did not always repeat the success he had against Sam but did nothing to embarrass himself.

For the next two Sundays, Colin was a welcomed addition to the early morning practice sessions, which were much quieter now that Sam wasn't running his mouth. The few hours of playing real baseball was the only thing Colin looked forward to all week.

That was why he was so angry with himself for oversleeping on this Sunday. By the time he rolled out of bed and threw on some clothes, he knew that most of the guys were already at the field. When he ran into the living room and headed for the front door, he was disappointed to find the house a mess. Colin wanted to leave the mess and clean when he got back. But if his father came home from work before Colin got back from the field, there would be hell to pay. Colin made that mistake once before and still had a scar on his arm as a reminder to never disobey his father again.

Colin cleaned the living room first, finding only five empty beer cans strewn about, the fewest amount of cans he'd seen in a long time. After that, he took out the garbage and cleaned the dishes. Without a dishwasher, Colin was forced to clean every dish by hand.

His chores weren't totally done but Colin looked at the clock and saw that practice had just started. If he hurried and rode his dilapidated bike as quick as he could, he might get to the field in time to only miss the first couple batters.

Colin yanked open his front door when he suddenly remembered something.

What the heck am I thinking? I almost went to play baseball without grabbing my glove.

He ran into his room and pulled his shabby old glove from under his bed. The glove was ancient, and the leather on it was worn and cracked, but Colin did not care. He'd had the glove for more than five years now it was still too big for him but it had been like a best friend to him, always there when he needed it.

Before Colin reached his front door, he heard knocking. He expected to see the mailman, or maybe even one of the neighbors complaining again about their unsightly lawn, but the person standing in the doorway was much smaller. It was John Fare, Colin's best and only friend. John's brand new mountain bike was parked behind him, its kickstand propping it up. Colin's battered ten-speed never even had a kickstand.

"Your dad isn't home, is he?" the tiny, bespectacled boy asked, looking past Colin for any sign of his father. John was more terrified of Colin's father than Colin was, as their only meeting ended with John leaving in tears.

"No, he's at work," Colin reassured. "I don't think he'll be home until late tonight. Anyway, what are you doing here by yourself? I thought your dad didn't want you visiting the slums."

Colin's house was the only dilapidated house on the street, surrounded by newer homes worth millions of dollars. When the developer bought all the land years before, Colin's father had been the only stubborn person not to sell. Thus, their house alone was the entire ghetto in the area.

"You mind if I come in?" John asked. He walked right by Colin without waiting for an invitation. "I didn't tell my parents where I was going. And who cares if they did know I was coming here?"

"Okay...," Colin said, surprised to hear his normally meek and mild friend exude such anger. John always listened to exactly what his parents told him to do so this was quite a change for him.

John crossed the living room and plopped down on the ripped old couch, grabbing the remote control and turning on the old TV. Even though John's house had nice leather couches and plasma-screen televisions, he never turned his nose up at the destitute furniture in Colin's house. As a matter of fact, he never seemed to notice there was a difference between himself and Colin. Considering the way the rest of the kids treated Colin at his ritzy school, John was still the nicest person in Colin's life.

Even if he did have bad timing at the present moment.

"I kind of have to be somewhere right-"

"Did you see the news this morning?" John interrupted. "They think the government is secretly starting space construction on the station. The President was at Cape Canaveral last night and there were three launches within an hour at different launch sites across the U.S."

"The President was wearing a cape?" Colin asked, barely listening to what John said. His smaller friend always spoke quickly when excited.

"Cape Canaveral, it's in Florida. It's where the old NASA used to launch shuttles before they were shut down."

John was what most kids considered a classic nerd, full of useless knowledge about science and math and that kind of stuff. Colin considered himself an expert on baseball but didn't find himself in many conversations that utilized his area of expertise. John, on the other hand, could talk intelligently with most grown-ups about anything. That was probably why Colin's father disliked the boy so much: he hated the fact that a little kid was way smarter than him.

The television showed video coverage of something soaring through the sky. The view was from far away and Colin could barely tell what it was, but a caption at the bottom of the screen read: POSSIBLE SPACE STATION CONSTRUCTION SHUTTLE LAUNCHES INTO SPACE. Colin vaguely remembered watching some other spacecraft launched a few years back but that camera had taken much better shots. Besides, if Colin remembered correctly, that space craft exploded or disappeared or something...

Although John appeared completely entranced by the blurry images on the TV screen, Colin quickly lost interest. Precious moments of playing ball were slipping away.

"This is all cool and stuff," Colin said. "But I usually go to the baseball field on Sunday mornings and "

Colin was interrupted by John for the second time, but it was not from his friend talking this time. When Colin looked over at John, he saw tears in his friend's eyes. It wasn't the first time he'd seen John cry. But the fact that John rode his bike all the way here knowing his parents would disapprove was strange.

"Are you okay?"

John pushed his glasses aside and rubbed his eyes.

"I didn't come over here just to tell you about the space station," John admitted. "But it is really cool, though, what's happening with-"

"You're rambling," Colin interrupted, squeezing the baseball in his gloved hand. "Tell me what's wrong."

"My parents were fighting again last night and this morning," John said. "I couldn't take listening to them anymore so I just left. I figured if anyone could know how I feel, it would be you."

Colin was young when his mom left, but he could still sympathize with having a messed-up family life. He longingly looked down at his baseball glove, having waited all week for this time. But he could not leave John in such a fragile state. If there was one person in the world who would be there for him if their roles were reversed, it was John.

Colin tossed his glove aside and sat on the couch next to his small friend.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Marc paced the grounds of the construction site for nearly twelve hours, growing increasingly worried with every second that ticked away. The military had shown up out of nowhere and took Marc's boss away. There was no explanation of where he was going or what they wanted with him. When Marc tried to call Tyler's cell phone, it went straight to voicemail. The phone had either been turned off or destroyed and Marc never knew a time when Tyler turned off his phone.

When the three military men took Tyler away, he demanded that Marc explain the situation to their 'guest.' The guest was Nigel Huffington, the enigmatic consultant that had been with Tyler during most of the construction. Huffington was the only other person who lived aboard the seacraft, his own small room next to Tyler's.

Marc knew little of Huffington, little of the man's past or where he'd come from. Tyler only told him that Nigel played a key role in producing the seacraft. The first time Marc met Nigel, the strange little man spoke with a foreign accent that Marc did not recognize. During further discussions with him, the accent changed dramatically, to the point where Marc was not even sure it was an accent at all.

Instead of finding out more about Nigel, Marc only ended up with more questions about him, questions that Nigel and Tyler were equally reluctant to answer. Nigel's extreme paranoia only raised more doubts in Marc's mind.

Why would Nigel be so paranoid unless he has something to hide?

After Tyler was taken away, Marc followed his boss's orders and went directly to Nigel to explain the situation.

"Some men from the military just took Tyler," Marc had explained after five minutes of knocking and cajoling Nigel to open the door. Nigel was as worried about the situation as Marc. But his first question made it clear that the two of them were worried about different things.

"Did they say anything about me?"

With one sentence, Marc's dislike for Nigel multiplied. He had no concern for Tyler at all, no concern for the man who made construction of such a wondrous craft possible.

"No," Marc answered. "Not that I heard."

"Not that you heard? Did Tyler say if they mentioned me?"

As far as Marc knew, the military was only interested in Tyler and the seacraft.

"They didn't mention you. But they asked a lot of different questions about every aspect of the ship. It wouldn't surprise me if you came up in their discussion."

"If they show back up looking for me, make sure to tell them I'm not here."

Nigel slammed the door, the clicking sound of the door's lock immediately following. Marc was convinced the man was guilty of something. Worrying about that would have to come later, though.

Once noon of the second day came and went, Marc contemplated filing a missing person's report. But explaining the circumstances of the construction site and Tyler's abduction might be more than the police could fathom. Marc's only option was to wait.

He stood by the gates of the construction site for hours, looking like a lost young boy separated from his parents. He could think of nothing to do but stand there and stare off into the distance, praying to see the Humvee that had taken Tyler. When the military vehicle finally reappeared, Marc was convinced his eyes were playing tricks on him.

The truck skidded to a stop twenty feet from the gate. The back door popped open and Tyler emerged, his clothes disheveled and his hair tousled. He clearly looked exhausted. But as he slammed the back door and walked toward his construction site, he did not appear defeated, even when the Humvee spun around and sped off.

"Are you okay?" Marc asked.

Tyler strode right by him, barely acknowledging Marc's presence.

"What happened? You were gone for nearly twenty hours," Marc said.

"It was nothing," Tyler answered simply.

Tyler entered the construction building and made a beeline straight for the seacraft.

"Nothing? You were basically kidnapped," Marc said. "They had to have wanted something."

Tyler stopped so suddenly that Marc almost bumped into him. The head of Ainsworth Industries looked at the seacraft and then turned to his assistant.

"The military does not like when private companies own more extravagant technology than they have. They feel threatened and taking me was the only way to prove that their power is still absolute. They asked a few questions, I gave a few answers, and that was that."

Tyler walked quickly again, heading up the ramp into the seacraft. Marc struggled to keep up, especially when they reached the darkened hallways. There was still much Marc wanted to know.

"So they just let you go when they were done? Are they ever going to come back?"

"I don't think they'll be bothering me anytime soon," Tyler said. Marc recognized his boss's confident tone. But considering the situation he just went through, Marc wondered why Tyler seemed more confident than usual.

"What kinds of questions did they ask? Were they surprised with the progress we've made on the seacraft?"

Tyler waved him off, in no mood to answer anything else. Once they reached the upper level where Tyler's quarters were located, the number of questions was about to double.

"Is that you, Tyler?" a frightened, muffled voice asked through a thick metal door.

Tyler and Marc stopped in front of Nigel's room.

"Yes, Nigel."

Nigel's door creaked open and the scared little man looked down both ends of the hallway before walking out.

"Is anybody else in here?"

"No, Nigel. They let me go," Tyler said. "They know better than to mess with me, thanks to you."

"Could you come inside for a moment? I'd like to speak with you in private," Nigel said.

"Only for a minute," Tyler said. "I still have tons of work to get done. This interruption is costing me precious time. And on top of that, I'm exhausted, I haven't slept in nearly two days. Marc, go find me a decent security force already. I gave you one job weeks ago and look where your failure landed me."

"Yes, sir," Marc said. He walked away from the two men, who disappeared into Nigel's room.

Marc knew better than to disobey Tyler but his curiosity was overbearing. Once the door closed to Nigel's room, Marc quietly walked back, sure to avoid causing echoes with his steps. When he put his ear against the door, he could hear their muffled voices.

"I told you the government would find out about us," Nigel said. "They have people everywhere, all the time. Are you sure we can trust Marc? He's the only logical person who could've provided them with information."