The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Thirteen

The smooth orb sailed gracefully through the atmo, glowing a dull white in the fluorescent illumination, and making a gently curving arc until it landed – was captured – with the satisfying sound of leather meeting leather at significant velocity.

“That’s it?” asked Jayne, dully.

Johnny let the ball fall from his glove into his left hand and returned it across the length of the cargo hold and into the deft glove of the chief engineer, who looked positively enchanted with the activity.

“Yep,” Johnny said, as the ball whizzed back. “It’s called ‘catch’.”

“How you keep score?” the mercenary asked, suspiciously.

“You don’t!” Kaylee said with a laugh.

“So . . . you tryin’ t’hit the other player inna head?”

“No,” said Johnny patiently.

“The body? Good hard body blow?”

“No, ya idjit!” Kaylee said, almost missing a catch when she laughed.

“Then . . . one o’ you tryin’ to . . . tackle the other one?”

“Nope,” Johnny said, with satisfaction. “You just throw . . . and catch.”

“Repeat as necessary,” Kaylee added.

“’Till when?” Jayne asked, mystified.

“Until your mother calls you in for supper,” Kaylee supplied.

“Or the kid who owns the ball’s mother calls her in for supper,” Johnny added, giggling.

“Stupidist gorram game I ever heard tale of,” Jayne grumbled, and continued back towards the rear of the ship. “Only the Chinese coulda come up with somthin’ as dumb as that.”

“I haven’t played catch in years!” Kaylee said, whipping a hard one towards Johnny, who caught it effortlessly. “We used to play right much back home. All homemade gloves an’ balls an’ such,” she added. “My daddy taught me how.”

“You throw remarkably well,” Johnny complimented her as he returned the ball.

“For a girl, you mean?”

“No, for anyone. You ever play the actual game?”

“Li’l bit. Third base, a little left field. You?”

“Shortstop!”

“Shoulda figured – you’re quick!”

“It’s reflexes, mostly.”

“Still, there ain’t much more relaxin’ than a gam