The call came from Data.
Travis recognized his old friend’s voice immediately. Data had grown larger and heavier, but he had somehow kept his kid’s voice, slightly high-pitched and brimming with excitement. Data had always been an ideas person, and now, as an adult, he was still scheming, still planning, still throwing in the odd Klingon phrase that no one else in the world – at least not this world – could possibly understand. And still coming up with the craziest ideas that, somehow, worked. He was, Travis had decided ages ago, a true genius.
“I have an idea,” Data began.
How many times, thought Travis, has a conversation with Data started like that?
“Shoot,” Travis said.
“We play on August 13.”
Play what? Travis wondered. Golf?
“What do you mean?”
“The Owls – I say we play a game on Sarah’s night.”
“It’s Sarah’s rink, right?”
“Right.”
“We’re her original team, right?”
“Of course.”
“Well, shouldn’t we be the team that opens the new rink?”
“The Screech Owls?” Travis said, his voice rising in disbelief.
How would that be possible? Some of them didn’t even play hockey any more. Wilson was a policeman in Jamaica – he didn’t have a place to skate even if he wanted to. Sam had stopped playing long before little Muck came along. Travis himself played “gentlemen’s hockey,” which was as close to real hockey as mini-putt is to golf. Nish was touring state fairs with the Flying Elvises. And what about Dmitri? He’d be soon headed off for Colorado’s training camp. And Lars, how would anyone even contact him?
“Nice idea,” Travis laughed. “Won’t happen.”
Data giggled back. “Oh, won’t it?” he said.
Another giggle came over the line. Someone else was listening in.
“Fahd?” Travis shouted. “Is that you?”
“It’s me.” Fahd’s voice sounded farther away, and slightly hollow. Data must have switched over to speakerphone.
“Listen up!” Data said, imitating Mr. Dillinger. “We’ve already had talks with the mayor’s office, and he thinks it’s a wonderful idea. We could play as a fundraiser, with the money going into the scholarship Sarah wants to set up to get young women players off to college. I’ve already spoken to Sarah, and she’s agreed.”
Travis felt a shiver go up and down his spine. He thought of getting back on the ice once more – one last time – with Sarah Cuthbertson. What a thrill that would be for anyone! What a thrill it would be for Travis Lindsay, former linemate of the best women’s hockey player in the entire world!
“That’s three skaters,” Travis said. “Sarah, Fahd, me”
“You think we call you first about everything?” Fahd giggled.
“Who else?”
“Dmitri. He loves it. And so, too, does the NHL Players’ Association. They see it as a great opportunity to show NHL support for women’s hockey and minor hockey at the same time. Wait until you hear what we’ve got planned …”
Travis had to sit down as he listened in disbelief. Dmitri had contacted Lars. Both professional hockey players were donating their hundreds of thousands of frequent-flyer points to Sarah’s charity. The airlines were in agreement with this, and so now anyone who needed to take a plane to get back to Tamarack would have a ticket, courtesy of Dmitri and Lars. As Dmitri had said, “I’d never have been able to use all those points anyway.”
Travis’s job, since he lived in Tamarack, was to contact all the other Screech Owls and arrange their transportation and lodgings for when they come to town. Fahd and Data would continue to organize the actual game with Sarah and the mayor’s office.
“Get to work,” Data said as prepared to hang up on Travis. “We’ve got less than eight weeks to pull this thing off.”
“You really think we can?” Travis asked, still not convinced.
“We have to,” said Data. “You only get one chance like this in a lifetime.”