Imagine you’re sent into a medieval world… no, wait. Is this a medieval world, or is it the stone age? What’s the difference? Wasn’t like I could suddenly consult Google to find out. Thrown back, way back, into history meant being thrown back into the storage of your own brain. Not all hard drives were created equal. Mine was average, most likely, and whenever anyone had mentioned the term ‘medieval’ to me I’d immediately pictured knights, monarchs, swords, castles, and mutton.
But, I admit I’d also gained a lot of that perception from films and television shows. For that reason, I’d pictured medieval times as being less muddy than the village of Moonlight turned out to be. When I saw the shabbiness of these stone huts around me, and the dirt on everyone’s faces, and the terrible sacks and skins everyone wore, it had me thinking this wasn’t medieval period at all, but the stone age instead.
The stone age to me always presented as cave people with bones through their noses riding mammoths, beating one another with shaved sticks.
This version of the world I’d been thrust into must’ve been some crude amalgamation of the two definitions. Which raised a frightening prospect that something as ubiquitous and powerful as the System could represent Earth’s history with such stunning inaccuracy. It was like they’d parsed a mind of similar level of expertise as mine when it comes to history in order to rebuild the world. Man, if anyone used my understanding of how the world looked, or how it worked as being the example of objective reality, we were in serious trouble.
When I raised this with Proctor, he appeared unperturbed.
“The System has its own sense of order,” Proctor said. “No matter how nonsensical all of this seems, it’s all meant to work out in the end.”
Sure, except who gets to be there at the end?
“Just don’t finish at the bottom of League 20, and you’ll be alright,” Proctor said. I’m not sure if that was supposed to be comforting.
In timely fashion, the System presented me with a table for League 17, which Proctor had pointed out was where our franchise in Moonlight would begin league play in April.
“Oh, there’s a file here,” I said to Proctor, as we stood in mud, still in front of the Moonlight Inn & Ale.
“What kind of file?” Proctor said.
“It’s the League 17 table,” I said.
[LEAGUE 17
1. Moonlight
2. Murphy Mountain
3. Blue Lake
4. Bluesie
5. Dal Mount
6. Dal County
7. Kings House
8. King East
9. East County
10. Eastview
11. Dal Lake
12. Lake East
13. Dal View
14. Dalburn
15. East Cross
16. Crosspaul
17. Lakeburn
18. Lake Trem
19. Paula South
20. Southols
21. Nicholmont
22. Nicholstown
23. Morrisville
24. Morrisland
25. Rocktown
26. South Rocktown
27. Landville
28. Southville
29. Water Mill
30. Millwood
31. Villa Green
32. Greenston
33. Kingwood
34. Kingsdale
35. Factory Son
36. Port Point
37. Williams Star
38. Upper Canton
39. Lower Hillanard
40. Hillning
41. Cannaton
42. Canereaux
43. Perning
44. Persport
45. Kingea
46. Kingshaven
47. Delsport
48. Delmidon]
I’d read all of these off to Proctor. He and I both found it odd the names weren’t alphabetized.
“The System has its reasons,” Proctor said. “We’re always best off not trying to understand them too much.”
“It’s a lot of clubs,” I said. “A lot of teams.”
“Indeed.”
“And, they all have owners who are from the modern world like me?” I said.
“Correct,” Proctor said. “And, there are twenty leagues, each with long lists of towns, cities, villages. Mind boggling.”
This circles back to my point about living in this ‘medieval’ time. Here I was standing in the mud having just taken ownership (albeit temporarily while Flint laid dormant) of a horse, and what was I supposed to do with it? I’d never ridden a horse in my life.
Proctor didn’t understand the point of my worrying about what to do with the horse. Nor what that had to do with marveling at the number of other villages similar to Moonlight we’d be competing with in this one league out of twenty leagues.
“If I don’t know what to do with the horse,” I explained, “it points to the larger idea of I have no idea how to live in this ancient reality.”
“Well, you’re not expected to do it alone,” Proctor said. “There’s a support structure here, of which I am part.”
“Right,” I said, “but if I’m having trouble even with something as simple as being around a horse, well, there’s 47 other people like me just in our region of this world alone.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Proctor said.
“I’m saying, there’s a bunch of other ignoramuses like me out there,” I said. “So many. So many people who have no idea what they’re doing, and yet we’re expected to live in this foreign reality, and bring this more modern thing to fruition. It’s blowing my mind.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
A flicker of recognition lit within Proctor’s eyes. “Ah,” he said. “Now I’m understanding. This is existential angst.”
“It is?” I said.
“Yes,” Proctor said. “This was inevitable. Okay, you have no one you’d left behind in the modern world, no one there to grieve, but this huge change that’s happened to you will still cause some blow back at some point. When that occurs will differ based on the person, but what you’re experiencing is completely normal. It’s your brain trying to deal with the change, to rebalance things. You might think of it as responding to inertia.”
“You’re making my head hurt,” I said.
“You’re thinking, ‘why me’, right?” Proctor said. “You’re questioning why you were among those picked to be a baseball franchise owner in this strange post-apocalyptic landscape. Why you instead of billions of others?”
He had my head spinning. I think he was right.
“Sure,” I said.
“You get a look at the table for just our league, League 17, and you’re better able to conceptualize the world around you, and you’re beginning to understand it better,” Proctor said.
“Maybe.”
“You’re thinking why you, why you and these other 47 people? Specifically because you consider yourself completely out of your depth dealing with this world. You probably think of yourself as average even back in your own world, right?” Proctor said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I was a bus driver. I didn’t have any specific expertise about anything.”
“You’re thinking the other 47 owners just in our league, let alone all the other leagues are probably working class folks like you,” Proctor said. “It has you thinking, ‘why us?’.”
“Well, think about it,” I said. “We’re here in Moonlight, and it’s totally archaic.”
“Right.”
“There’s no power, no running water,” I said. “I pissing in a piece of pottery in my bedroom. People are running around in animal skins. Riding freaking horses is the most modern form of transportation available. Now I have this horse. I don’t know anything about horses!”
“You’re experiencing a form of existential jet lag,” Proctor said. “This was to be expected. Don’t panic.”
“I didn’t expect it!” I said.
“I know, but I’m telling you, it’s normal,” Proctor said. “Trust me, this will pass.”
“But, don’t you see?” I said. “We can’t put this team together and run this league without a lot of leadership from me. Me! Of all people. We’re going to need to build things that mimic modern infrastructure.”
“True,” Proctor said.
“I don’t know engineering! I have no clue about plumbing, wiring. I barely know baseball,” I said. “Are the other 47 owners in League 17 the same level of ignorance as me?”
“I think in your angst you’re selling yourself a bit short,” Proctor said. “It’s understandable, but you may be exaggerating a bit.”
“I’m not going to fool myself into believing I know more than I do,” I said. “I’m not going full Dunning-Kruger here.”
The comment caused Proctor to laugh in a way I didn’t think was possible for him. “Oh,” he said, “I don’t think you’re nearly in danger of that. How many people do you suppose are having this conversation? If anything you could probably stand to do less navel gazing.”
“It’s in my nature.”
“Clearly.”
“I guess I’m just worried that this new world, well… old world is being led by an entire cohort of idiots,” I said. “They made a movie about this. Where the most ‘advanced’ person on Earth is actually painfully average in intelligence, and abilities. If anything, I’m below average in a lot of areas. Including baseball.”
Proctor had this strange smile on his face. But then the smile faded, and he focused his gaze on me while I kept a tight hand on the horse’s reins.
“You’re not alone,” Proctor said. “You understand? I know you’re feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders, but you’re going to have help along the way. We’re going to build this team, this franchise together. I don’t know a lot about engineering, and infrastructure either. And, you’re right, I’d bet most of the other modern baseball owners out there don’t either, but we’re going to figure it out. You just have to remember, you’re not alone.”
As dismayed as I felt, his words gave me a warm feeling.
“Think about it,” Proctor said. “We’re going over to see your friends. Aubrey, right? The others with her? They’re from your world too, aren’t they? That’s part of your support structure.”
“They’re not plumbers either,” I said. “Or electricians, or nuclear physicists. I don’t even know if any of us have ever hammered a nail into a board, let alone build a ballpark.”
“Look around you,” Proctor said. “You have an entire village of expertise to draw from.”
“They’re still pooping in the dirt here, Proctor,” I said.
He smiled at me, the way a parent might when they knew better than you.
“Leave some room in your perception for the unexpected,” he said.
“Huh?”
“I think the people here might surprise you,” Proctor said. “Remember to keep an open mind. We’re playing a long game here.”
“Let me ask you something,” I said. “And be honest with me.”
“Always,” Proctor said.
“You think the baseball team owner, some poor schmoe like me, assuming that’s what they are… someone over in say… Murphy Mountain,” I said. “You think they’re going through the same doubts? The same fears?”
“It’s possible,” Proctor said. “It’s also possible they’re a raging ego maniac.”
“You don’t see that as worth worrying about?” I said.
“I understand why you’re worrying about it,” Proctor said.
“Which is to say, you think I shouldn’t,” I said.
“Yes, er no. I think you should focus on what’s directly in front of you,” Proctor said. “We can’t get into the heads of the other team owners. You’ll learn this more once we get into the season, and playing games, and moving players according to our needs and such.”
“That feels a million miles away,” I said.
“It might,” Proctor said. “But don’t let that deter you from doing what needs doing in the here and now, because I promise you, none of the above is a million miles away. It’s all right around the corner.”
We stared at our feet in the cold mud for a moment while I contemplated Proctor’s words. The conversation had helped, and I was feeling gratitude. I couldn’t imagine feeling so lost without someone else to bounce all of this off of, to help me conceptualize it all. My mind settled as I accepted the idea, it was all going to be a team effort. The calm, however, was short lived, as our thoughts were interrupted by the foot stomps of someone a few dozen yards away.
Then came the shouts. It was Whinging Thom.
“Hey you!” Whinging Thom shouted. “Hey you! Hiring now! Thunders security, hiring now! Where you doing? What you doing? Where you going? How you going? Hiring now, thunders security!”
He yelled it like it was some kind of poetry slam. But it was the worst poetry slam you’d ever heard.
“Hey now, hey you! Hiring now! Paying you in gold! Security! Security! Security! Thunders! We’re keeping them out! Hiring now at Hag’s!” Whinging Thom hollered.
He kept repeating words to that effect, and I worried Thom was spreading the word about an event I hadn’t even properly planned.
“We’d best get to Hag’s I suppose,” I said. “Before people start showing up for a hiring fair we haven’t even organized.”
Proctor’s previously patient countenance changed to a visage of concern. “Have you even reached out to the village leadership about this hiring fair?” He said.
“When would I have done that?”
“Hiring fair! Over at Hag’s!” Thom wailed. “Security against the thunders ‘tis this! Come and be paid in gold! Lots o’ gold!”
“Oh dear,” Proctor said. “We need to get ahead of this as quickly as possible.”