him determine what a 12-year-old might do.
Neither he nor the earlier Gosseyns had any recollection of ever having been a boy? True, those predecessors, having both been on earth, and on other human-occupied planets, had watched children in various circumstances; and the memory of that was now in the mind of Gosseyn Three.
But what they had observed seemed to be mostly children at play. Children competing in games of sport. That was the basic awareness now. Competition within the frame of games of all kinds.
That had to be it. Hey!
In its way it had been a lightning swift mental survey of the situation. And so, abruptly, not waiting for that incomplete brain to arrive at some wrong conclusion; and, in fact, abandoning the courtesy that was due this superboy. Gosseyn spoke without waiting for permission.
He said, “I’ll bet I can hold my breath longer than you can.”
There was a distinct silence in the room. Gosseyn Three had time to be aware of adult retainers in uniform and other formal attire, stiffening, and looking—yes—startled.
Then: “I’ll bet you can’t,” said the boy emperor.
Whereupon, without waiting, he gulped in a large mouthful of air. His lungs expanded. His cheeks puffed out.
And, Gosseyn Three, responding immediately, did the same thing.
There they stood. And at first the man was thinking: Well, that’s one minute or so I’ve gained before—what?
Presumably, for about sixty seconds he had headed off a contest with more serious implications: the Gosseyn extra-brain contesting again with what was, apparently, some equivalent brain power possessed by a few people (families) from wherever these people had come; one of the possessors being the boy.
With each passing second, Gosseyn became more vividly aware of how idiotic this little contest must seem to the onlooker. And yet, of course, since their emperor was involved, no one dared react adversely.
There, each person stood, frozen, like the two contestants. Of the thirty or so men, not counting the guards in the background, only three—though they also did not move—seemed to be sizing up the situation speculatively.
Gosseyn could see the Draydart and Four, and a third man to one side, all three with their faces reflecting inner scheming. Seeing him looking at them, their eyes shifted. And then the third man turned back, and, deliberately seeking eye contact with Gosseyn, moved his lips, and framed the words: “Let the emperor win.” That was a problem which Gosseyn had already started considering. What would be best for dealing with the boy? A swift glance at the young emperor showed that his eyes were bulging, his face looking strained.
It was the moment for decision. With a gasp, Gosseyn exploded his own breath in the room. And bare instants later the boy did the same. But he yelled delightedly, “I won! I won!”
Gosseyn, having a fully developed cortex—at least so he had reason to believed—had already had a series of second thoughts. Accordingly, he gulped a few mouthfuls of air, smiled his acceptance of defeat, and said, “It’s the power of being young. But I’ll bet there are games I can beat you at.”
The goodlooking child face still needed a few more quick breaths. But it was already lighting up.
“I’ll bet you can’t beat me at Scroob,” said the 12-year-old finally. “My mother doesn’t want to play with me anymore because I’m too good for her.” Gosseyn said, “I’d have to see what kind of game it is before I argue with you. But maybe we can try a game after I’ve been assigned living quarters and get a chance to eat some food.” He added, “After all, it’s time that a decision be made that I should be treated like a guest and not a prisoner; since I assure you I am quite willing to help your scientists in any way that I can.”
It was the only way he could think of to postpone an immediate challenge. And obviously, if he could win the kind of reprieve he requested, it was the
Neither he nor the earlier Gosseyns had any recollection of ever having been a boy? True, those predecessors, having both been on earth, and on other human-occupied planets, had watched children in various circumstances; and the memory of that was now in the mind of Gosseyn Three.
But what they had observed seemed to be mostly children at play. Children competing in games of sport. That was the basic awareness now. Competition within the frame of games of all kinds.
That had to be it. Hey!
In its way it had been a lightning swift mental survey of the situation. And so, abruptly, not waiting for that incomplete brain to arrive at some wrong conclusion; and, in fact, abandoning the courtesy that was due this superboy. Gosseyn spoke without waiting for permission.
He said, “I’ll bet I can hold my breath longer than you can.”
There was a distinct silence in the room. Gosseyn Three had time to be aware of adult retainers in uniform and other formal attire, stiffening, and looking—yes—startled.
Then: “I’ll bet you can’t,” said the boy emperor.
Whereupon, without waiting, he gulped in a large mouthful of air. His lungs expanded. His cheeks puffed out.
And, Gosseyn Three, responding immediately, did the same thing.
There they stood. And at first the man was thinking: Well, that’s one minute or so I’ve gained before—what?
Presumably, for about sixty seconds he had headed off a contest with more serious implications: the Gosseyn extra-brain contesting again with what was, apparently, some equivalent brain power possessed by a few people (families) from wherever these people had come; one of the possessors being the boy.
With each passing second, Gosseyn became more vividly aware of how idiotic this little contest must seem to the onlooker. And yet, of course, since their emperor was involved, no one dared react adversely.
There, each person stood, frozen, like the two contestants. Of the thirty or so men, not counting the guards in the background, only three—though they also did not move—seemed to be sizing up the situation speculatively.
Gosseyn could see the Draydart and Four, and a third man to one side, all three with their faces reflecting inner scheming. Seeing him looking at them, their eyes shifted. And then the third man turned back, and, deliberately seeking eye contact with Gosseyn, moved his lips, and framed the words: “Let the emperor win.” That was a problem which Gosseyn had already started considering. What would be best for dealing with the boy? A swift glance at the young emperor showed that his eyes were bulging, his face looking strained.
It was the moment for decision. With a gasp, Gosseyn exploded his own breath in the room. And bare instants later the boy did the same. But he yelled delightedly, “I won! I won!”
Gosseyn, having a fully developed cortex—at least so he had reason to believed—had already had a series of second thoughts. Accordingly, he gulped a few mouthfuls of air, smiled his acceptance of defeat, and said, “It’s the power of being young. But I’ll bet there are games I can beat you at.”
The goodlooking child face still needed a few more quick breaths. But it was already lighting up.
“I’ll bet you can’t beat me at Scroob,” said the 12-year-old finally. “My mother doesn’t want to play with me anymore because I’m too good for her.” Gosseyn said, “I’d have to see what kind of game it is before I argue with you. But maybe we can try a game after I’ve been assigned living quarters and get a chance to eat some food.” He added, “After all, it’s time that a decision be made that I should be treated like a guest and not a prisoner; since I assure you I am quite willing to help your scientists in any way that I can.”
It was the only way he could think of to postpone an immediate challenge. And obviously, if he could win the kind of reprieve he requested, it was the
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