"Where do I put my son while I speak with the admiral?"
The man behind the bright blue square desk stacked his papers before looking up at what he saw as a thirty-five year old country coot holding a two foot tall child a space from him as through not sure what to do with him.
"How old is he?" he blandly asked, after resuming his gaze towards his pen and pad, where he scribbled while talking.
"Four," was the prompt answer, as the man wiped his tanned brow with a cloth. "Now come on! I don't want to look undignified when I speak with the admiral! What do you expect me to do with him?"
The man behind the desk privately didn't think the hick in front of him had any business speaking with the admiral, but as it wasn't his place to say so, so he guessed the best he could do was treat him with as little importance as possible. He gestured, casually, to the children's play aria, without looking up. "Down the hall."
The man nodded, briefly, and dropped the kid in a spacious pen, before sauntering off to do his duty. The baby sat there without moving, for a few minutes, taking in the bright colors, and happy babies crawling, to and fro, with rattling, and rolling toys of all kinds.
He was a rather normal looking child, except for his eyes, which were striking in color and expression. They looked very knowledgeable and mellow, and, in other words, old. They were bright blue, and gave one the mental image of wells of clear water stretching a long ways down.
He was dressed in a blue T shirt, and a pare of baby overalls. Soon, he laid eyes on a bright colored red ball that looked like fun, and, noticing a baby in a black one piece sitting, very erect, next to it, he called to him. "Hey, kid!" he piped. "Could you hand me that ball?"
The infant stared down at him, for several seconds, without blinking, before saying, "It is not logical to play with toys 'cause they serve no real purpose."
The first baby was taken aback by this response, of which kind he wasn't used to hearing from his peers. But after composing himself he added, "I like it 'cause I think it looks bright, and I like bright things." Accompanying this, he placed his baby fists on his hips, as this child had no reason, that he knew of, to refuse him the toy.
"That is not logical," the baby insisted for the second time. "You should do something more constructive,"
The baby was once more taken aback. "How?" he prompted. "Do you even know the word constrictive? It's not normal for babies to know such long words."
"As you might have noticed," and the baby tipped the side of his head down rather proudly revealing an ear that came to the point at the tip. "I am not a normal baby. I am from the planet Vulcan. We are very civilized." After saying so, he promptly shoved his fist into his mouth, and sucked it solemnly.
"Hm," was the grunted reply. "Well, just because your not normal doesn't mean you can't hand me that ball."
"I must toss this ball out of the pin so you will not damage your future mental development."
"Oh come on!" whimpered the country baby. "It's just a ball, and I like it too!"
"I'm afraid it's my responsibility to look after those who mean harm to themselves or other people," and so saying, he pushed himself closer to the ball, and wrapping his fat little arms around it.
"Hey!" overalls shuffled toward the black onsey, and the toddler tried to pry the ball from it's grasp, but only succeeded in bruising his thumb under the vice like grip. However, his father had told him never to whine, so he only sucked the bruise discreetly, and went on. "I could go right over there and punch you in the nose, you know, and it would hurt too!"
