Chapter 1

Deland, Massachusetts

June 8, 2003

Ben

“One more year” Ben muttered to himself as he trudged along the well worn forest path between the high school and his home.

Today had been the last day of his Junior year at Deland High and, while Ben was glad to be free of the place for the summer, he desperately wished he was headed to college in the fall. Ben had his application for M.I.T already filled out and his essay, which had been rewritten no less than a dozen times, carefully printed and sealed in an addressed envelope ready to be mailed on September 1st.

It was to be his ticket out of this backwoods town and away from the miserable cretins that inhabited it.

Ben Booker was unusually smart and born with an innate ability to understand the way machines worked. He planned to use that ability to earn a doctorate in aeronautical engineering and eventually dedicate his life to the problem of manned interstellar travel. The idea of which Ben found highly alluring. Because as good as he was at understanding machines, he was equally terrible at understanding people. And what better place to avoid people than the cold darkness of deep space?

Stumbling a little on some tree roots, Ben swore under his breath and adjusted the weight of his backpack as he regained his balance.

He had always been fairly clumsy and as such had avoided any kind of high school sports. Ben reasoned he was too short for basketball anyway at roughly 5’9” and his slightly doughy build didn’t lend itself to football or baseball much either. Although he privately thought he might make a decent pitcher if he could ever stomach the social interaction a team sport like baseball would require.

Ben had always enjoyed watching baseball and was particularly fascinated with pitching. Watching the Sox games on TV with his father, he had been endlessly captivated by the mechanics involved. Whether it was Roger Clemens’ 98-mph fastball or Tim Wakefield’s fluttery 60-mph knuckleball, Ben couldn’t get enough.

It was one of the very few things he and his father had been able to bond over. Jack Booker was not a stupid man, having built a successful landscaping business from nothing, but he had sensed early on that Ben was meant for something much greater. Jack had done his best to be a supportive parent even if most of his son’s interests were far beyond his understanding. At least they had baseball.

While you could describe his father as supportive but slightly distant, Ben’s mother could politely be described as doting. Tanya Booker was a helicopter parent of the highest order and as a housewife, she had plenty of time to smother her children with love and support. She made it her business to know everything they were interested in and to make sure they had anything they could possibly need to succeed.

She had even convinced her husband to build a regulation pitchers mound and target net for Ben’s 14th birthday after she had gotten him to admit that he might like to try pitching. It had remained mostly unused for the last 3 years but she would still occasionally encourage him to throw a few balls into the net. For the most part, his mother’s attentions were devoted to his sister Emily and her ever expanding list of extracurricular activities.