[CatKnight]

Boom Boom: Thanks. It's good to hear from you!
*******

January, 109

"Gentlemen?" Bertrand Collier stepped into the room. "Thank you for coming."

Leather backed chairs surrounded the table on the top floor of the Travelers Hospice, the hotel favored by what few tourists came to Whitehorse. Bright overhead lights filled the room with a warm glow, and a waiter in burgundy livery, a member of the governor's staff, moved from chair to chair refilling drinks and taking orders for the luncheon to follow their meeting.

Collier watched the other team 'owners' closely: Especially those from the rural settlements of Hanover and Rio Grande. They looked awed, and perhaps put them a little on the defensive. Once you got away from the major cities, technology dropped off rapidly. There electricity was, at best, unreliable and combustion engines a rich man's toy. Half of Selenica's merchant marine bore sails for God's sake.

"Thank you for this opportunity," replied Jason Branton, owner of the Blackwell Mudrakers. Deposits from the sea tended to clog Blackwell Harbor with alarming frequency, hence the name. Branton wore a suit straight out of the late nineteenth century, with a thin tie at the neck, loose blue jacket and pants and a frilled shirt. "I believe the governor's goal is noble and will bring our people together in common endeavor." He spoke slowly, savoring each word almost as much as he savored his drink. "I can assure you the people at home are excited and anxious to start."

The same couldn't be said of Keith Heinz of the Hanover Eagles, whose clothing might have fit better in the seventeenth century than elsewhere. Thin, with a pale complexion and trembling hands, he opened a portfolio. "Hanover will be ready by spring," he said crisply. "The stadium dimensions you outlined are...peculiar."

"They are standard," Branton interrupted. "I verified the historical data from the Terran leagues myself."

"Peculiar, sir," Heinz emphasized coldly. "We have had to work to spare the land necessary to hold such a project. The Aldermen are displeased, but willing to continue. For now."

Bertrand nodded. He was honestly surprised he'd found anyone in Hanover willing to go along. As its name implied, the town was founded by German settlers seeking to escape the predominately American colonists. They had no baseball tradition. No one he spoke to even heard of it before he found Heinz.

"It is of no consequence," said Rafael Chavez of the Rio Grande Caballeros. "Truly. Any difficulties we suffer now are but...temporary." He lounged back with his drink. Chavez wore a suit in more modern tastes, though didn't see the need for a tie. Indeed, he'd opened his collar. "May I?" Without waiting for a reply he lit a thick cigar and pointed at Bertrand. "I have a general manager," he continued softly, "and in May I will have the players. We will be ready."

"We'll all be ready!" affirmed Portland's owner in a booming voice. Tyrion Jordan of the Sealions was a heavily muscled black man who favored white clothing and an impressive array of rings. Shipping made him the second richest man on Whitehorse behind the governor and he enjoyed showing it. "God damn it, man! Is that why we're here? A status report? I could have called mine in! I have people to do and thinks to see!"

Most smiled at the quip. Heinz sniffed.

"Actually I wanted to make sure we agreed on the basic rules and meet you. Did everyone receive my pulses with the specifics?" Where phone service wouldn't do or proved too expensive, communication generators sent 'pulses' town by town to be relayed as many times as necessary. They worked similarly to ancient telegraphs without lines nor Morse code.

Several nods, then: "Why only ninety games to start?" All eyes turned to Timno Brem, a small man with a wide, curled moustache representing the Selenica Guardians. He dressed similarly to Branton, but in yellow with gold cuffs. "I chanced to go through the archives while in Portland on the way here," he nodded at Jordan, "and the Terran leagues used to play 154-162 games. Surely we can match that?"

"I noticed that as well," agreed Branton. "It seems easy enough to simply start earlier and play later." Jordan nodded as well.

Collier opened his mouth, but Heinz answered for him: "Climate. Terra is warmer than Whitehorse. Expand the season much more and we will be bundling our players in parkas. A lack of snow does not mean it can't be too cold to play."

"That," Bertrand said, "and we don't want to overcommit anyone. A closer look at the Terran leagues will tell you it took them some time to stabilize their membership. We don't want anyone to have to bow out unless absolutely necessary."

"Perhaps we try ninety now," said Chavez. "Then next year? Who can say?"

The conversation continued: Ninety games, single division with the top two teams playing each other in a best of five series for the championship. They would use a designated hitter and impose the old reserve system to control costs with a luxury tax to keep the cities from dominating. Tryouts would be held through late April into early May, with the season starting on May 15.

"As the Governor wishes more direct control of the New Haven Redcaps, he has asked me to oversee league administration," Bertrand finished. "Do any of you have objections?"

"None at all," replied Branton with a smile. The others, however, looked thoughtful or even wary. Jordan lifted his chin and started to speak, but shrugged and reconsidered. Heinz finally shook his head.

"You work for the Governor, Mister Collier. How are we to be assured of your neutrality in any matter involving the Redcaps?"

"I assure you that I will be completely impartial," Bertrand said firmly. He leaned forward for emphasis. "This league is an autonomous project for the betterment of the entire colony. Neither the governor, nor I, are going to endanger it through favoritism."

Heinz sniffed.

Brem smiled. "I see no reason not to take Mr. Collier's assurances at face value. As he says, any favoritism would doom the league and thus ruin the governor's reputation." He added a slight edge to the last part as a warning. "We have all already committed to this course."

"Are there any other objections?" Bertrand asked. "Excellent. Then, if you will follow me, lunch has been prepared and we can toast to our mutual success."