On the unofficial grapevine – loosely translated as the pillow next to Jupiter – I’d heard that the boys were holding up better than expected against the grueling travel schedule imposed on them. We were currently thirty-one wins to twenty-three. And following the weekend, Lux Weston was now leading home runs for the league after a grand slam hit bottom of the eighth that saw us eventually beat the Mariners by two runs.
Beyond Jupiter and his cherry LifeSavers, I’d learned that baseball is full of the most superstitious people in the world, and as soon as they’d realized the changes they were making couldbe helping them win, they’d been begging for what would come next. I was getting visits from some of the guys, adding things to my list of what frustrated them most. More than once I’d arrived at my office to see two or three of them hanging around outside. Ace Watson and Parker King were there daily.
Ace’s non-stop talking was exclusive to Jupiter, however.
I dropped the box onto one of his chairs and ripped it open. “You remember I told you about that material? The one that can detect sweat levels?”
He nodded, taking the shirt I was holding out to him and rubbed the fabric between his fingertips. “This it? Feels just like a normal shirt to me.”
“It’s supposed to, that’s what makes it so revolutionary.”
I waited while he held it up to the windows, letting the light shine through to he could examine every stitch, every seam. He stretched it taut, then turned it inside out, and repeated it all. I watched a pigeon land on the railings outside, but he didn’t care so much and flew off.
“Where do the sensors go?”
I nodded at the shirt crumpled in his hand. “They’re there.”
“Where?”
“In the shirt. They’re microfibers sewn into the material; they’re part of the cloth. The whole thing is made of sensors. It can detect anything.”
Even in the brief time I’d known Penn Shepherd, I’d learned it took a lot to impress him. And right now, if I wasn’t mistaken, I’d just achieved that badge of honor.
“Anything?” His eyebrows shot so far into his floppy blonde hairline they almost disappeared.
I nodded with a grin.
“Anything?” he asked again, but slower this time.
“Yes.” I looked at him, interrupting before he asked a third time. “Yes, anything.”
“Steroids?”
I’d always understood that Penn Shepherd had genius level intellect, but maybe I’d heard wrong if he didn’t realize what anything meant.
“Yes. If it can be found in blood or urine, it can be detected through those sensors.” I waited for him to say something, but he was still inspecting the shirt. “For today’s purposes though, it’s just the sweat we’re looking at.”
I grabbed my laptop from the box and spun it round so he could see.
“What’s this?”
“This is the dashboard.” I tapped the screen which showed a series of graphs and dials. “Each player has his own; and then they’re all compiled on the main screen here.” I flicked onto another page.
“How does it know what to monitor? You must need to find a base rate first, right?”
I nodded. “Right. When we first set them up, we record everything we want the sensors to detect; base heart rate, hydration levels, metabolism – that kind of thing. During each game we observe the changes, and can make adjustments as they happen.” I watched a frown form on his face. “It seems complicated, but it’s easy to set up. Maybe an hour for each player to be tested, then the program does the rest. But eventually we can use the information to design specific training programs for each player.”
He took the laptop, swiping across the screens. My eyes began wandering around his office, to the framed pictures of him and Lowe; one of him with a couple of guys and a dog; another of him and someone I knew to be Lucian Shepherd, his grandfather. I’d seen him once; he’d been with the N.A.S.A. Administrator in Houston. It wasn’t hard to understand where Penn got his drive from.
I glanced back at him just as his mouth straightened into a line. “If I put the shirt on, will it come up here?”
“No, not that one, it’s just a demo, but I can get one for you this week if you want to try it.
“Yeah, I do.” He tapped against a graph of wavy lines. “What’s this right here?”
I peered round the screen to see what he was pointing at. “Muscle fatigue.”
His eyes bulged in excitement. Personally, I thought sweat rate was more exciting, but each to their own. “Marnie, what the… are you serious?”
