Yankees 2103 part 7
on 2/27/2004 (2)
Jeter returned to his room and closed the door. The door locked shut behind him. He got in bed and fell into a fitfull sleep.
An Indian boy, dressed in loin cloth and tribal head band, crouched atop a craggy outcrop of boulders overlooking a railroad track far below. An ancient steam locomotive appears on the horizon, its light blazing, almost setting the canyon walls afire.
As the train approaches, he readies a large rock, aiming to roll it down the craggy hill at the onrushing train. Stonethrower hates the Iron Horse and the misery it has brought to his people and the land. The train looms ever closer, its blaring light growing larger and larger, first the size of a dime, growing to the size of a silver dollar.
Just as Stonethrower starts to release the boulder, the light explodes into a thousand meteoric fragments and flaming sparks, arcing through the dark sky toward Stonethrower, singing in a fugue of Siren voices
Suddenly the train is gone, the night sky starry and quiet. A rocky crag atop the cliff on which Stonethrower lies becomes emblazoned with strange and wonderfull shapes and symbols, glowing in rare colors of neon pink, purple, rare blue and glowing cyan. The sign of the Apache -a snake like symbol resembling an elongated "S" glows eerily on the cliff face. The Indian Gods have acknowledged Stonethrowers rage and have given him a sign.
Doused with sweat, Jeter jerked his head from the pillow. It was just a dream, the same dream he had on the airplane...
Someone knocked on the door, shocking his exhausted nerves again.
"W-who's there? Kelly?"
"Derek, It's Joe. Get your gear. We're going to play ball."
Jeter donned his Yankees uniform and headed downstairs.
"Mr. Torre, I need to talk to you. It's about the future, I mean the present...they want us destroyed, I have to tell you about..."
"I know Derek. Me and David did some research of our own, and I think were on the same page. We'll discuss it later. Oh, and Derek, please don't call me 'Mr. Torre'. Call me Joe."
Jeter managed a weak smile
"Yes Mr. Torre."
Torre tipped his cap forward and smiled.
The trip on the tram to the lakefront only took a few minutes. Under armed guard, the team assembled just outside of an empty, lined field, about a half a mile in length.
Jorge Posada looked about quizzically
"Where is my stadium?"
A few moments passed as the confused Yankees looked about
"I think they're playing another muy loco trick on us, Joe...I..."
A sudden rumbling drowned out Pasada. A tiny black dot appeared over the lake, rapidly increasing from the size of a dime to a silver dollar, growing larger and larger, eclipsing the sun with a tremendous roar, louder than a thousand jumbo jets, finally filling the sky with its enormity. Holding their caps to their heads against the rushing thermals of scorching air, the Yankees froze in terror as the giant form of an aerial stadium emerged from the sky, softly settling down within the lined off square of land.
A clearly astonished Torre looked on
"Uhh..Jorge, I'm not sure, but I think that's your stadium."
The stunned Yankees filed into the stadium, down a long hall, and out into the infield.
Jeter whispered to himself
"This is it. Kelly wasn't kidding. It's the Sky Stadium."
The team was greeted by an armed escort, and led into a locker room. A tall man dressed in a baseball uniform approached the team. He seemed to recognize Jeter. He walked slowly toward him, abruptly kicking the bag from Jeter's hand.
"You won't be needing your gear. We play things differently nowadays."
Jeter clenched his fist. Torre whispered
The man went to a loc
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