[Izz]

Narrator's Note

Time has flown. Which is apt, really, as I too have been flying - yes, I know piloting a spacecraft isn't quite flying in the conventional sense, but we all still relate to it like that. Almost 2 and a half years ago, just over 6 months into a 3-year stint on garbage duty in the Belt, I decided to start a history of the AUNZBL, digging through the data archives in an attempt to relay the most complete history yet of our great league.

It's taken longer than I anticipated. I didn't think I'd get sucked in quite as deep into the rabbit hole that is baseball history as I have been. Not that I mind, of course. The sadness, actually, is that I can't relate all the baseball minutiae I have unearthed. Well, I could, but I have to draw the line somewhere, and there can be too much of a good thing.

So, then, I hear you asking, what's the purpose of this interruption of the narrative?

And the answer is: no purpose really. Just an update on my personal situation. My three-year tour of duty in the Belt has come to a finish. I write this while sitting on a bench in the depths of Jupiter Station, watching the inhabitants of this metal and plastic world pass me by. Most are obviously earth-born, their build and gait giving them away. Others are just as obviously station-born, their build and gait as much a marker of their origins. And many I could only guess as to where they call home: Mars, Earth's Moon, anywhere else in this vast expanse we still call Our Solar System, even though we are acutely aware it is only one of countless such.

Truth be told, I haven't got my station-legs properly yet. The artificial gravity here feels far different to my ship - no longer mine, now, of course. So I'm still pitching and rolling a bit when I walk, and those watching me pass by probably have a good chuckle.

Where to from here? I'd always imagined returning to Earth after finishing this job to chase some other goals, which I'll share with anybody reading in due course. But there's a snag or two in that line of thinking now. The biggest snag is that I'm still only less than halfway through this history. And while I could return home and finish it there, I'm also not sure I could, either. Too many interruptions, too many other things to do, too much that could wrench me away from my obsession.

On the other hand, I'm not sure I'd survive 3 more years alone in the Belt with my wits still intact. Too few interruptions, too few other things to do, too little to stop me becoming completely enveloped in my obsession.

Thankfully, a possible alternative has come up: a position monitoring the emergency frequencies of all the garbage collectors in the Belt. A job, I've been told, where very little happens and there's not a great deal to do. Sounds perfect. And they're quite happy to let me continue my baseball research. In fact, the head of HR is a great baseball fan who'd already heard of my history, would you believe? In fact, she'd been wondering which of the 'dump truckers' was the author.

So, dear readers, now you're up-to-date. I start the job in a few days. Now all that is left is to find myself some accommodation - easy - some furniture - easy - and a place that serves decent steak - not so easy, though I'm not a stickler for it being the genuine article. As long as it tastes good, I'll take it, field-grown, vat-grown, or replicated.

To finish, and I probably haven't said this enough: thank you, any and all who are reading, whether you're following along update by update or chance upon this later on. I'm glad I can relate the history via this medium - it gives me far greater freedom than compiling a book would have, but still limits me enough that I don't go meandering off on too many tangents.

Thank you again, and I hope you continue reading.