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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59814 ***
+
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+
+                              BRAINCHILD
+
+                            BY HENRY SLESAR
+
+                   _Ron definitely didn't like what
+                 had happened. But who can blame him?
+                  How would you like to wake and find
+              your body had been switched for a child's?_
+
+           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
+               Worlds of If Science Fiction, April 1957.
+         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
+         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
+
+
+Ron Carver's day was beginning strangely.
+
+For one thing, the legs he swung off the narrow bed wouldn't touch the
+floor. And his hands, whose ten strong fingers could manipulate the
+controls of any ship ever launched into space, were weak and clumsy.
+
+He looked at the hands first, looked at them for a long time. Then he
+screamed.
+
+He screamed until footsteps were loud in the corridor outside his room;
+shrill, piping screams that didn't stop even when the giant woman-face
+was bending over him, speaking gentle, soothing words, stroking his
+thin shoulders with giant, comforting gestures.
+
+"There, there, now," the woman was saying. "You're all right, Ronnie.
+You're all right. It was only a nightmare... a bad old nightmare...."
+
+She was right. Only the nightmare hadn't ended. The nightmare was
+before his face, in her gargantuan features, in her motherly touch on
+his frail body, in the sight of the small, soft appendages that were
+his hands.
+
+They were the hands of a boy of twelve. And Ron Carver was thirty years
+old.
+
+Two men giants joined the woman at his bedside, and one of them forced
+a small speckled capsule past his resisting lips. Then his viewpoint
+became detached and distant, and a pleasurable drowsiness overcame him.
+He stretched out and shut his eyes, but he could still hear the worried
+tones of their speech.
+
+"Dr. Minton warned us," one of the men said, lifting Ron's bony wrist
+and feeling for the pulse. "The boy has suffered some severe traumatic
+shock..."
+
+Dr. Minton! Ron Carver's mind grasped the familiar name--the name of
+his own physician--gratefully. But his body gave no sign.
+
+"Maybe we better call him," the woman said nervously. "I think he's
+still in the sick bay."
+
+"Good idea."
+
+In another moment, a familiar hairy face was floating over Ron's head
+like a captive balloon, a face grown grotesque in size.
+
+"Doctor..." he said with his lips.
+
+"There." Dr. Minton patted his shoulder. "You're all right now, Ronnie.
+You're perfectly all right. Just relax and try to sleep." The balloon
+came closer, and the scraggly ends of the doctor's beard brushed his
+cheek. Then the doctor's mouth was covering his small ear.
+
+"Play the game," the doctor whispered. "For your own sake. Play the
+game, Ron..."
+
+Then he was asleep.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He awoke to the sound of running feet. He sat up in bed and looked
+towards the door of the small white room in which he was confined. It
+was partly open, and the sound of clattering soles and shrill young
+voices came through clearly.
+
+The door slammed open, startling him. A hoydenish youngster gaped at
+him. There was a flat lock of reddish hair over his forehead, and his
+face was freckled.
+
+"Hoy," he said. "What's the matter with _you_?"
+
+Ron stared back wordlessly.
+
+"You sick or something?" the boy said, edging into the room.
+
+"No." His own voice, strange and reedy, frightened him. "No, I'm all
+right."
+
+"Andy!" A tall man with a frowning face appeared behind the boy. "Come
+on, fella. Let's not waste any time." He looked at Ron. "You the new
+chap?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Feel well enough for some breakfast?"
+
+"I guess so."
+
+"Fine. Then get some clothes on and come along."
+
+"Hoy," the freckle-faced boy said curiously. "You play airball?"
+
+"That's enough of that." The man paddled the boy's rump. "Get along,
+Andy. You'll have plenty of time to get acquainted later."
+
+The boy giggled and ran down the hall. Ron got out of bed slowly, and
+walked towards the undersized clothing that was draped on a nearby
+chair. He slipped into a gray coverall and said: "Listen--can I talk to
+you?"
+
+The man looked at his watch. "Well ... all right, I suppose. But only
+for a minute. I promised the boys a game this morning; I'm Mr. Larkin,
+the athletic director."
+
+Ron hesitated. "Mr. Larkin, I--where am I?"
+
+"Don't you know?" Even the man's smile was half a frown. "You're at
+Roverwood Home for Boys. Didn't they tell you that?"
+
+"No," Ron said carefully. "I--I don't seem to remember very much. How I
+got here, I mean."
+
+"Dr. Minton brought you in last evening. He's one of our directors."
+
+"Oh." Ron laced on the tiny scuffed shoes. "And where's Dr. Minton now?"
+
+"Gone back to the city. He's a busy man. Hear they've got him working
+on some big government project. Well, come on, Ronnie. Breakfast's
+waiting."
+
+"Yes, sir," Ron Carver said.
+
+He followed the tall man down the hall, having trouble guiding the
+short stumpy legs that were now his own. They entered a communal dining
+room, filled with the clatter of dishes and the laughter of boys. He
+was brought to a long table and seated beside Larkin. The other boys
+greeted him with only mild interest, but the freckle-faced youth at the
+other end dropped him a broad wink.
+
+He ate sparingly, choking on the food, his mind working. It was the
+longest nightmare of his life, and the moment of awakening seemed too
+far off for comfort.
+
+Then Larkin was standing up and rattling a spoon against a water glass.
+
+"Fellas," he said, "all those interested in this morning's airball
+game will assemble on the field in half an hour after breakfast. Please
+don't volunteer unless you're able to handle a PF. Everybody else is
+invited to see the game."
+
+He sat down, amid cheers. He smiled sadly at Ron, and asked: "How about
+you, Ronnie? Can you operate a PF?"
+
+"Of course," he answered, without thinking. He'd been using Personal
+Flyers since he was old enough to dream about flight. On his tenth
+birthday, his father had bought him one of the earliest models, a
+cumbersome machine then called a "platform". Since that day, he
+had become familiar with every man-made thing that flew, from the
+double-rotored PF's to the sixty-rocket space liners.
+
+"Fine," Larkin said cheerfully. "Then maybe you'd like to play the
+game."
+
+Ron Carver looked up sharply. _Play the game...._
+
+"Sure, Mr. Larkin," he said, forcing his eagerness.
+
+Half an hour later, they were assembled on the huge lawn outside of the
+main building of Roverwood Home for Boys. The long row of PF's, looking
+like chrome-plate pot-bellied stoves, gleamed in the morning sun. The
+boys began to run when they saw their Flyers, and Ron found his arm
+taken by the freckled youth who had entered his room.
+
+"Hoy," he said. "Follow me. I'll pick you out a lively one!"
+
+The redhead clambered inside a machine marked Seven, and Ronnie
+followed his instructions by choosing the vehicle marked Nine. They
+secured themselves inside, and tested the jet tube set in front of the
+Flyer. The boys took off from the ground in perfect unison, the redhead
+bellowing out an introduction over the sound of the wind roaring past
+their ears.
+
+The PF's descended on a blast from Mr. Larkin's whistle, congregating
+in the center of the field. Teams were chosen, and Andy was picked as
+Captain of the Odds. A coin was tossed to decide the playing sequence,
+and they were ready.
+
+Larkin released the first airball, and the two teams streamed up after
+it. Andy gunned the engine and reached the ball first. He sent it
+scooting thirty yards ahead of him with the blast of the airjet pipe,
+but a member of the Evens team was there to veer it off to the left.
+Another Evens man, a burly youth of fourteen, took command of it,
+neatly getting the airball in the sight of his airjet and cork-screwing
+it towards the goalpost. Ron had grown too old before the game of
+airball had become popular with the nation's youngsters, but he had
+seen enough action to have learned some tricks. He pointed his PF
+directly for the Even machine, and kept coming. The burly youth looked
+up, startled at the onslaught, and pulled his Flyer away. The fact that
+the PF's were magnetically collision-proof didn't matter; it was pure
+instinct. Ron captured the ball in his airjet pipe, and shouted for
+Andy to block his path towards the goal.
+
+The Odds scored, and the two teams descended for a rest. Andy, the
+grin wide on his brown-spotted face, said: "You're okay, Ronnie! Hoy, I
+mean it. You're okay!"
+
+"Thanks," Ron said. He found himself panting.
+
+The game resumed. It ended in a 3-2 score, favor of the Odds. Andy and
+Ron were cheered as they left the Flyers and headed for the communal
+showers of the Roverwood Home for Boys.
+
+In the stall, Ron Carver looked down at the spindly frame that was now
+his body, and began to weep. Andy heard him, but said nothing. Then
+they dressed and ambled back to the main house, sharing the awkward
+silence of new friends.
+
+Finally, the older boy said: "I don't mean to butt in, Ronnie. But is
+somethin' the matter?"
+
+"I--I don't know, Andy. I'm all mixed up. I don't even know how I got
+here."
+
+"That's easy. Dr. Minton brought you."
+
+"But where is he now, Andy? Dr. Minton? It's very important that I see
+him."
+
+Andy shrugged. "Not much chance of that. Dr. Minton only comes around
+once, twice a year.
+
+"But I have to see him! Right away! Will they call him for me?"
+
+"Gosh. I don't think so. He's some kind of big shot in the government
+now."
+
+They flopped on the grass, and Andy tore out a ragged clump and chewed
+on it blankly. Ron said: "Andy, I'm in trouble. I need some help."
+
+"No kidding?"
+
+"Yes!" He brought his voice to a whisper. "Andy--what if I told you
+that I was really--" He stopped, and examined the open, innocent face
+in front of his eyes. He knew that it would be useless to tell the
+truth. "Skip it," he said.
+
+"I don't get you. What's on your mind, Ronnie?"
+
+"Nothing, Andy. I just have to get away from here."
+
+"But you can't. I mean, not until they let you. It's the rules."
+
+"Andy--how long have you been here?"
+
+The boy thought a moment. "Almost nine years," he said blissfully.
+"Since my folks got killed."
+
+"How long do you have to stay?"
+
+"Why, 'til I'm old enough to work. Eighteen, I guess."
+
+_Only six years to go_, Ron thought sourly.
+
+He stood up.
+
+"Andy--where do they put the PF's?"
+
+"In the shed."
+
+"Is it possible to get one out?"
+
+"'Course not. Only when we play the game."
+
+"And when will we play another game?"
+
+"Dunno. Tomorrow maybe. It's Sunday."
+
+_Play the game._ Ron said to himself.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Evens team member caught the spinning, gas-filled airball in the
+path of his airjet and kept it moving in front of his Flyer. Andy was
+after him in a flash, shouting for Ron to join him. But Ron's daring
+tactics of yesterday seemed to have deserted him. He steered the PF out
+of the path of the Evens man, and the goal was scored.
+
+On the ground, Andy said: "What's the trouble, Ronnie? Didn't you hear
+me?"
+
+"Yes, I heard you. Andy, listen. I'm taking off--"
+
+"Sure, in just a minute," the freckled boy said. "But, look, the next
+time you see me cut across the--"
+
+"You don't understand!" Ron said intensely. "I'm running away!"
+
+"What?"
+
+Larkin's whistle sounded the signal to resume play. The airball shot
+into the sky, and the two teams sped after it. Andy was late getting
+started. He looked at Ron and gasped: "You can't do that--"
+
+But Ron Carver was already in flight, and his PF was heading away from
+the center of the action, heading over the jagged pinetree tops that
+surrounded the Roverwood Home for Boys, heading for the misty green
+hills beyond.
+
+Larkin saw what was happening, and he blew his whistle shrilly. The
+teams descended, thinking a foul had been called. Larkin shouted a
+command towards the burly youth who had played so aggressively the day
+before, but then realized it was far too late to stop the swift passage
+of the PF now disappearing behind the trees.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ron dropped the PF to earth as soon as his eyes spotted the first sign
+of a settled community. He landed the small machine in the shadow of
+a hillside, and dragged it into the thick underbrush for concealment.
+Then he trekked to the main highway, until he reached a road sign that
+informed him of his location. He was in a town called Spring Harbor,
+just fifteen miles outside of the city.
+
+He looked down at the waxy newness of his gray Roverwood coverall, and
+wondered if it was a familiar uniform to the residents. But he had to
+take the chance. He covered the cloth with dust, and rolled up the
+trouser legs almost to his knees. Then he broke off a long branch from
+a sapling and used it as a walking stick. Casually, he strolled into
+the town proper.
+
+The pose worked. Some people on the porches looked after him with mild
+curiosity, but no one stopped him. Then he paused at a gas station,
+and asked the owner of the automatic pump if there was transportation
+available to the city.
+
+The owner scratched his face and looked at the boy curiously. Ron told
+a plausible story about being separated from a scouting group, and the
+man seemed satisfied. He had a pick-up copter going into the city at
+ten o'clock; he invited Ron to wait inside his house, and even served
+him a sandwich.
+
+The copter pilot, a genial red-faced man, asked him some gentle
+questions. Ron answered them guardedly, and told him that his
+destination was Fordham Terrace. The copter dropped him on the rooftop
+of the massive office building, and the pilot left with a friendly wave
+of his hand.
+
+When he was gone, Ron rolled down his trouser legs, brushed his uniform
+clean, and descended to the fourteenth floor of the building. He
+walked rapidly along the corridors until he came to the door marked:
+
+                        WILFRED G. MINTON, M.D.
+
+He rattled the knob. When he found the door locked, he let out an adult
+oath. It was Sunday, of course. Dr. Minton wouldn't be in on Sunday.
+And Ron had never known his home address.
+
+He returned to the elevator and went to the ground floor. There was an
+information booth, and the woman behind the glass was a motherly type.
+Her eyes softened at his approach.
+
+"Dr. Minton?" she said, lifting an eyebrow. "Why, I guess I do have his
+address. But who sent you, young man?"
+
+"Nobody," Ron said. "I was supposed to see him, that's all."
+
+She kept her eyes on his face while her hand leafed through the
+directory on her desk. "Of course, Dr. Minton doesn't use his office
+anymore. He gave up his practice here almost a year ago. He was put on
+an important government project. Dr. Jurgens, his assistant, handles
+all his patients now. Would you like Dr. Jurgens' number?"
+
+"No," Ron said. "Please. I must see Dr. Minton."
+
+"All right. But I don't know if you can see him without an appointment.
+He's staying at the Government Medical Center in Washington." She
+smiled. "That's a long way for a little boy...."
+
+"Thank you," Ron said curtly, and walked off.
+
+His mind was racing, tripping over his thoughts. A year ago! But
+that was impossible! It seemed only days since he had returned from
+Andromeda, after a five-year absence. One of his first visits had been
+to Dr. Minton's office--not just to renew an old friendship, but to
+allow the physician to examine him thoroughly for traces of the varied
+and deadly diseases that man was subject to on alien worlds. Could it
+have been a whole year ago? Where had he spent the time between? And
+what had happened to give him the body of a twelve-year-old child?
+
+He fought off the questions. He had no time for the puzzle now; there
+weren't enough pieces to make sense. He had only one thought: to find
+the doctor.
+
+But that was a major problem all by itself. Washington was a good hour
+away by fast copter service. And in this big, suspicious city, it
+wouldn't be as easy to obtain free transport to his destination. He
+could do nothing--not without money.
+
+When he thought of money, he thought of Adrian.
+
+Adrian....
+
+Of course! Adrian would know what to do next. Adrian always seemed to
+know what to do. Her father's money had opened every conceivable door
+in this city, and she herself had often suggested that it open doors
+for him. Doors to the executive heights of the Space Transport Company.
+Doors to the plush offices in the sky tower, doors to the select circle
+of cigar-smoking men who controlled the transportation empire of
+which Ron had been only a spare part. But Ron Carver had been young
+(he thought now, sourly) and his head had been stuffed with ideals. He
+detested the groundworms who stayed home and counted the profits of
+space travel. He wanted the stars.
+
+So he had become a pilot, one of the best in her father's fleet. She
+had sworn at him for his decision, and turned away from his embrace.
+But on the night of their parting, the night before the dawn ascent
+towards the speck of light that was Andromeda, she had softened, and
+cried in his arms.
+
+He thought now of that moment, and his small fingers rolled into fists.
+
+_Adrian_, he thought. _I must go to her...._
+
+The doorman was magnificent and imposing in his braided uniform, but
+his eyes were cold when he saw Ron.
+
+"What do you want, son?"
+
+"I--I have a message for Miss Walder. It's very important."
+
+"Okay, son. You just give your message to me."
+
+"No! I'm supposed to deliver it in person!"
+
+The doorman grunted. "Wait a minute." He put in a call to the penthouse
+apartment. The idea of a twelve-year-old visitor must have amused the
+girl. He brought back an invitation for Ron to enter her home.
+
+Ron stepped off the elevator, and his stomach was churning. What would
+she say when she saw him? Would she believe his story? Would she help
+him find an answer?
+
+Adrian came to the door herself, and the amusement was evident on her
+long, smoothly-planed face. Her auburn hair was swept back in Grecian
+ringlets, and the gown she wore was blindingly white. "Come in, dear,"
+she said, smiling.
+
+The effect of looking up at the girl, now a sort of giantess in his
+eyes, made Ron dizzy. He swayed against the doorframe, and her cool
+fingers steadied him.
+
+"You poor boy," she crooned. "Come inside."
+
+She half-carried him to the downy sofa. For a full minute, he was too
+choked to speak. She offered him a glass of milk, but he asked for
+water. She brought some to him, and he coughed.
+
+"Now," the girl said, spreading the wide skirt over her knees, "just
+what was it you wanted to tell me?"
+
+"I--"
+
+"Come now." She smiled endearingly, and brushed back the hair from his
+forehead. "You must have had something on your mind."
+
+"Yes," he said at last, his voice strained. "Yes, Adrian. I--I'm
+Ron...."
+
+"What?"
+
+"I'm Ron Carver! No, listen, I'm not mad. It's really me, Ron!"
+
+She had stood up, shocked. Then she laughed.
+
+"Adrian, listen to me! Something happened to me when I returned from
+Andromeda. I don't know what. I found myself at a boy's home near
+Spring Harbor."
+
+"Now, really! This is the craziest--"
+
+"I know it's crazy!" He wiped his forehead in an adult gesture. "But
+it's true, Adrian. I've been--changed somehow. I don't know why. But
+it's something to do with Dr. Minton."
+
+She sat down again, limply. Then she studied his face, and for a
+moment, Ron thought she was seriously considering his predicament.
+But then the laugh started again, the same slightly off-key laugh Ron
+remembered.
+
+"Adrian, you must believe me! I can prove it! Just listen to me for a
+moment!"
+
+She stopped the laugh and grew serious, her eyes caught by the
+intensity of his own. "All right," she whispered. "I'll listen...."
+
+"My name is Ronald Carver. I'm thirty years old. I'm a Captain of the
+Walder Space Transport Company. I have been in the Andromeda system for
+the past five years. I returned to Earth--" he stopped, and swallowed
+hard. "I don't know exactly when. I went to see Dr. Minton, an old
+friend and a physician. He examined me, and then--"
+
+She stared, fascinated.
+
+"And then I was a child! A child of twelve, in a home for boys. I ran
+away from there this morning, and came looking for Dr. Minton. I've
+been told that he's in Washington. I must get to him. I must find out
+what's happened to me--"
+
+She was shaking her head, slowly, eyes still fixed on his face. He got
+up from the sofa and came towards her. His small hand reached out and
+patted the fine bones of hers.
+
+"You must remember," he said. "You must believe me, Adrian. Remember
+our last night together? Right here? We stood by that window, and you
+cried in my arms. And then we...."
+
+She tore her hand away, as if burned. Then she stood up, looking
+horrified.
+
+"Get out of here!" she shrieked. "You little monster!"
+
+"Adrian--" Only now did he realize what it must have been like to her,
+to hear those words from his childish lips, to feel the touch of his
+tiny hand as he spoke of the night they....
+
+"Get out!" she cried, covering her face. "Get out before I call the
+police!"
+
+"Adrian!"
+
+She screamed, piercingly. This time, the sound brought heavy foot-side
+clumping outside her front door. It was thrown open, and a uniformed
+man with bouncing epaulets was striding towards him.
+
+"No," Ron said. "You must listen--"
+
+"Get him out of here!"
+
+"Sure, Miss Walder!"
+
+He struggled in the big man's grip, while the girl turned her head
+aside. He managed to squirm from his hold, and broke for the door. The
+houseman started after him, cursing. Ron's hand went out and grasped
+a solid metal ash tray. He threw it without thought or aim, but it
+crashed squarely into the man's face and sent him thudding to the
+carpet.
+
+Adrian screamed again. He looked at her once more, imploringly. Then he
+ran for the door, just before she reached for the house telephone.
+
+In the elevator cage, he punched the button marked roof, and fell
+against the wall, panting.
+
+On the rooftop, he galloped across the metallic surface towards the
+ledge. He peered over it, and his heart sank when he saw that his
+stratagem had deceived no one. Police were entering the building, and
+some were pointing fingers in his direction. With a sigh, he dropped to
+his knees and rested his head against the cool aluminum surface.
+
+"It's no use," he said aloud.
+
+Then he heard the copter overhead.
+
+He looked up, thinking it was a police vehicle. But then he saw the
+outmoded design of its fuselage, and the young face at the controls.
+
+It hovered over his head, and a rope ladder unfolded. The youthful
+pilot said: "Quick! Climb in!"
+
+He blinked at the voice, unbelievingly. Then he scrambled to his feet,
+and grabbed the dangling ladder. He barely made it into the copter; the
+pilot had to help.
+
+"Who are you?" he said, gasping.
+
+The boy laughed. "I hate cops, too."
+
+Then they were in the air, and speeding towards the west.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ron Carver watched the back of the young boy's neck for twenty minutes,
+while he steered the ancient copter expertly across the skies. He
+figured that the boy might have been fourteen or fifteen, but there
+was a competence in the way his hands moved over the controls, and a
+steeliness in the way his head sat on his thin neck.
+
+They didn't make much conversation, but Ron gathered that the boy was a
+member of something called the Red Rockets, an organization with some
+inexplicable purpose.
+
+It was only after the copter had landed on the roof of a half-decayed
+slum in the worst part of town, that Ron realized who the Red Rockets
+were. They were kids, all of them, banded together for mutual defense
+and in common antagonism toward the world. When he clambered out of the
+copter, his rescuer grinned and said:
+
+"This is it, pal. This is where the gang meets."
+
+"The Red Rockets?"
+
+"Yeah. This is Shock's house. He's the leader."
+
+They had to descend by stairs; there was no building elevator. When
+they reached the second floor, the boy put a finger to his lips, and
+rapped one-two, two-two on the apartment door.
+
+A boy no older than Ron's new body opened it. His dark pinched face
+grew smaller and darker when he saw the stranger. He looked back into
+the room before letting them in.
+
+The room was a study in decay. Someone had once wallpapered it in an
+optimistic pink pattern that was now sardonic in the surroundings. The
+furniture was rudimentary, and there were no working light fixtures. A
+battery lamp was sitting in the middle of a wooden table, and three
+youngsters were playing with a ragged deck of cards.
+
+The tallest of them arose when the newcomers entered. He was the only
+one wearing a jacket; the others were in shirtsleeves. His hair was
+black, and unruly to the point of being ludicrous. His wide mouth
+twisted when he spoke.
+
+"Who's this?" he said. "What's the idea?"
+
+"He's okay," Ron's protector said. "He's an okay kid. I spotted him on
+a rooftop down on Park. A million cops after him. I dropped down in the
+copter and picked him up."
+
+The tall boy studied Ron's face. "What's your name?"
+
+"Ron."
+
+"What were the cops chasin' you for?"
+
+Ron hesitated. "Any of your business?"
+
+The tall boy smiled. "Maybe not." He looked towards the others, and
+winked as if pleased. "Guess he's okay." He held his right hand out to
+Ron, while his left ducked into his jacket pocket. "My name's Shock,
+pal. And I'm the leader here. And just so's you don't forget it--"
+
+Pain lanced through Ron's arm and struck the base of his skull. He
+tried to free himself from the tall boy's grip, but his fingers
+wouldn't part from the other's flesh. He dropped to his knees in agony,
+until the grip was broken.
+
+He looked up, his face damp.
+
+"That's your 'nitiation," the tall boy grinned. "Now you know what's
+what, Ronnie boy. So if you want to join the Rockets, you'll know where
+your orders come from."
+
+Shock helped him to his feet. "Right, Ronnie boy?"
+
+Ron shook his head, still bewildered.
+
+"Good deal," Shock said. "Now let's finish that game. You play, kid?"
+
+"No," Ron said. He staggered towards a wooden chair on the side of the
+room and dropped on it heavily. "No," he repeated, still trying to
+regain his breath.
+
+_Play the game...._
+
+His rescuer sat beside him. "Don't mind that guy," he whispered. "He
+does that to everybody. He got some kind of a power in his hands. But
+he's not a bad guy. Honest."
+
+"Sure," Ron said weakly.
+
+"We get a lot of kicks," the boy said eagerly. "You'll see. We have
+dogfights with the other gangs. With copters. We only got one, that
+ain't so much. But we're figurin' on gettin' some PF's next year, if we
+can collect enough dough in the treasury...."
+
+"That'll be great," Ron said. Then he dropped his hand on the other's
+arm. "Listen--is there any chance of takin' a trip? In the copter?"
+
+"Yeah, sure," the boy said warily. "Only you gotta ask for it in
+advance. I mean, it's Rocket property, and you gotta sign for it. And
+even then, if Shock wants to use it--well...."
+
+"Why?" Ron said. "Why's that? Because he's the leader?"
+
+"Sure," the boy said simply. "That's the reason."
+
+Ron looked across the room at the card players.
+
+"How do you get to be the leader?"
+
+"I dunno. Shock's the leader 'cause he can lick anybody in the Rockets.
+That makes sense, don't it?"
+
+"Yes. I suppose so." He chewed his lip. "Listen. Let's say _I_ was
+leader. Could I use the copter then? Any time I wanted?"
+
+"Sure. I mean, if you're the leader, who's gonna stop you?"
+
+"Yes," Ron said. He stood up and walked to the table, watching the
+cards as they were slapped on the wood.
+
+"Hey, Shock," he said.
+
+The tall boy didn't look up. "What is it?"
+
+"You cheat." A thrill ran through Ron's new body as he said it, and he
+muttered a small prayer that his guess about Shock's power was correct.
+
+"I _what_?"
+
+"I've been watching you play, and you cheat. You don't even cheat good.
+You cheat sloppy."
+
+The tall boy stood up slowly, and the other chairs were scraped back in
+anticipation.
+
+"Now that's something," he said. "That's really something! The kid's
+here ten minutes, and right away he wants to be buried." His face
+became grim. "Boy, we've had 'em wise before, pal. But never like this."
+
+Ron planted himself in front of him.
+
+"So?" he said.
+
+Shock's face clouded. "Say, are you kidding? You really like trouble
+that bad?"
+
+His right hand lashed out, while the left headed for his jacket pocket.
+But it wasn't the right that Ron avoided. Both of his short arms shot
+out towards the tall boy's left, and stopped the descent of the arm.
+Shock's right hand thudded against Ron's shoulder, the blow only
+stinging him.
+
+"Hey!" Shock cried. "Hey, you--"
+
+It was a triumph for Ron. He had been right about the electrical
+circuit woven through Shock's clothing, the circuit he couldn't
+complete without his left hand tripping the mechanism in his pocket.
+With the power off, Shock's weapon was useless. He was caught by
+surprise, and Ron's quick-moving hands tumbled him to the floor.
+
+Before he had a chance to do anything else, Ron was upon him with an
+upraised chair. He closed his eyes before he swung. The sound of the
+crash might have sickened him in other circumstances; now it sounded
+good and satisfying.
+
+Ron looked around the room, panting.
+
+"I'm the leader now," he said. "Understand? I'm the leader!"
+
+The looked at each other uncertainly.
+
+"I'm taking the copter for a while," Ron said, backing towards the
+door. "Any arguments?"
+
+Nobody answered.
+
+"Swell. So long, pals."
+
+Outside the door, he ran all the way back to the roof and was off
+before the gang could follow.
+
+The trip took almost two hours. Even Ron's experienced guidance of
+the controls couldn't push the old copter past its limits, and he was
+keeping a worried eye on the fuel gauge. It was with a sigh of relief
+that he dropped the vehicle atop a public parking station in the
+downtown district, within walking distance of the Government Medical
+Center.
+
+The sun was dropping fast, and the Washington streets were still filled
+with Sunday sightseers who found nothing odd in the sight of a solitary
+twelve-year-old. When he entered the enormous U-shaped edifice that
+housed a hundred and one government medical projects, he was thinking
+fast about a plausible story for the receptionist. The best he could do
+was:
+
+"I'm looking for Dr. Wilfred Minton. He--he's my uncle."
+
+"Dr. Minton?" She was young, and the efficient type. "I'm sorry, but
+Dr. Minton's been on special assignment for some time. It's not easy to
+locate him."
+
+"Oh, I know about that," Ron said airily. "But I was supposed to see
+him today. You see, my mom--his sister that is--she was in a very bad
+accident...." He swallowed hard, wondering if he was being believed.
+
+The woman frowned. "Well, if it's an emergency, I suppose I could check
+with central control. If it's really important."
+
+"Oh, it's important, all right!" He said this with great conviction.
+
+"Very well, then." She picked up her telephone, and there was much
+transferring from party to party. Finally, she lowered the receiver,
+saying: "He's in the east wing. It's Security territory, so I'll have
+to see about a pass."
+
+It took another ten minutes for her to locate the authority she was
+seeking. A young man with crinkly hair and a grim expression came
+briskly to the desk, asked him a few questions, and then signed his
+name on a document. Ron put the paper into the pocket of his coveralls,
+and followed the man to a bank of private elevators.
+
+The man waved him inside one, and he couldn't resist a wide-eyed
+question.
+
+"Gosh, mister. Are you from the FBI?"
+
+The man couldn't conceal a small pleased grin. "That's right, son. Only
+you keep it a secret."
+
+"Sure," Ron said. When the door closed and the elevator ascended, he
+grinned too. Being twelve had its advantages sometimes.
+
+He got off the elevator, and a uniformed guard checked his paper and
+led him into an anteroom.
+
+"You wait here, son," he said, and left.
+
+Ron waited five minutes. When nothing happened, he tried an adjoining
+door. It was open. He stepped inside the next room, and saw that it was
+a bare room with nothing but a row of filing cabinets and an abandoned
+swivel chair with a definite list to port.
+
+He went to the files and peered at the designation cards.
+
+They read:
+
+                           PROJECT SCHOLAR.
+
+He shrugged, and tried to open the top file. It was locked. He tried
+the others, with no better luck.
+
+Then he heard the voices in the anteroom.
+
+For some reason, he sensed danger. He knew he shouldn't be in the file
+room, that if he were found his visit to Dr. Minton might come to a
+sudden end. He couldn't take the chance. He tiptoed to the front door
+of the file room and turned the knob. He slipped out, and ran on his
+toes down the empty corridor.
+
+Quickly, without thought of the consequence, Ron opened still another
+door and closed it behind him.
+
+He looked at the shining brass fixtures and ultra modern appliances,
+and wondered what a kitchen was doing in a government medical building.
+Then, when he heard a sound in the adjoining room, he reasoned that he
+had stumbled into someone's living quarters.
+
+He went to a brown mahogany door and pushed against it gently, until he
+widened the crack sufficiently to make out the figure walking up and
+down in the other room.
+
+When the man crossed his line of vision, Ron's breath tumbled out in a
+gasp.
+
+It was his own body. His thirty-year-old body, with its six-foot-two
+frame of big bones and long muscles, its sandy, close-cropped hair, its
+brooding eyes and full mouth. It was Ron Carver. It was himself as he
+had been before.
+
+"Here's the little rascal," a voice said behind him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The crinkly-haired man took his arm roughly.
+
+"Okay, kid. Let's hear it."
+
+"Hear what?" Ron said plaintively. "I wasn't doing anything!"
+
+"Sure," the guard sneered. "He wasn't doin' a thing. Just snoopin'
+around, that's all."
+
+The swinging door opened.
+
+"What's going on here?"
+
+Ron Carver looked at himself; at his own face, now strange and stony;
+at his own eyes, now bright and disinterested; at his own mouth, now
+a thin line of discontent. He heard his own voice, in a dangerous
+inflection he had never known before.
+
+"Sorry, sir," the guard said, reddening. "Didn't know you were inside.
+Wouldn't have disturbed you--"
+
+"How did he get here?"
+
+"Gosh, sir, I really don't know. He says he was lookin' for Dr.
+Minton--"
+
+"Minton," Ron Carver's voice said. "Yes, of course. He would be looking
+for Minton, wouldn't he?"
+
+"Sir?"
+
+"Never mind. Bring the boy into my quarters. Then get Dr. Minton up
+here at once."
+
+"Yes, sir!"
+
+They pushed the swinging door open and shoved Ron ahead of them. The
+room was an anomaly in this pristine government building, a warm room
+of deep-colored woods and thick carpeting. He was placed in a leather
+chair, his feet not touching the floor. The two men exited, and Ron
+Carver's body walked to an oaken desk and sat in the padded swivel
+chair behind the blotter.
+
+"Well," he said. "This is something of a surprise for me."
+
+"And how about me?" Ron said hoarsely.
+
+The man laughed. "Yes, we are both surprised. Was it Robert Burns? Yes,
+of course. 'To see ourselves as others see us....'" He chuckled, and
+reached for a cigarette. "Filthy habit, this. Don't know how I picked
+it up. Possibly a deep-seated trait of yours, Mr. Carver. Odd how
+these things can be transferred."
+
+The door opened again.
+
+"Dr. Minton!" Ron leaped to his feet.
+
+The doctor's face went white behind the gray beard and moustache.
+
+"Then you've found him," he said softly, to neither of them in
+particular.
+
+"No," Ron Carver's body answered. "I didn't find him, doctor. Rather,
+he found us. Isn't that right, Mr. Carver?"
+
+"Yes!" Ron said. "And now I want to know the truth!"
+
+"I, too, need answers," the Ron-body said stiffly. "I need answers at
+once, Dr. Minton. I would think this requires an explanation."
+
+"I couldn't do it," the doctor whispered. "I couldn't do what you
+wanted, Scholar."
+
+"Do what?" Ron said.
+
+"All right, then," the Ron-body said coldly. "You failed once. But
+you're far too intelligent to make the same mistake twice. So you have
+your assignment, Dr. Minton. I will get you the help you need. But kill
+this--this remnant--"
+
+He turned away in disgust, and picked up the telephone. He spoke under
+his breath for a few moments, and then hung up. "Dr. Luther will be
+here in just a moment. He'll arrange things with the laboratory. It
+will all be very painless and quick."
+
+Ron said: "What are you talking about?" He looked wildly towards the
+old man, who had aged even further since entering the room. "Dr.
+Minton--"
+
+The door opened. A brisk young man, carrying a small valise, appeared.
+
+"All set downstairs," he said.
+
+"Good," the Ron-body answered. "Then get it over with."
+
+Ron struggled for a moment in the young man's grip, but he found it
+iron.
+
+"Please, Ron." Doctor Minton's eyes were moist. "Don't make any
+trouble. Please...."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The laboratory was in the basement of the building, an antiseptic room
+with the acrid odor of chemicals. Dr. Luther prepared something in a
+hypodermic syringe, while Dr. Minton strapped his former patient onto
+a padded examining table.
+
+"Doctor ..." Ron whispered.
+
+"Hush, Ron. It's all right...."
+
+"But what is all this? Who am I?"
+
+The doctor frowned. "You're Ronald Carver. You're the same Ronald
+Carver you always were. But you have made an exchange of bodies. That
+is all."
+
+"But why? How?"
+
+"I don't really know. God help us. It was _his_ project from start to
+finish--that thing upstairs."
+
+"Who is he?"
+
+"A phenomenon. A mutation. A freak. A genius. A god. I can't explain
+him. He was born twelve years ago, to normal parents in the middle
+west. He was a recognized prodigy at the age of six months, a
+mathematical wizard at one, a scientific genius at three.... You've
+heard of this kind of thing, Ron. Once a generation, something like
+this. And once a millenium--a horror like this one."
+
+"I don't understand! What is Project Scholar?"
+
+"He is. All by himself. The government has taken charge of his
+abilities, at least for the time being." He snorted. "He's already done
+things I wouldn't have believed possible in five thousand years of
+evolution. And yet he is still only twelve years old...."
+
+"Only twelve?" Ron squirmed in the straps. "Doctor! This body--"
+
+"Yes, Ron. It's his, of course. He grew angry with it; wanted to
+discard it, like everything else which doesn't fit his conception of
+the fitness of things. It was awkward--a giant's brain in a child's
+body. So he developed a solution--an operation, involving the total
+transference of electrical energy...."
+
+The doctor's shaggy head bowed. "He needed human help for that. That's
+when I was brought in as assistant. And it was my function to select
+the perfect body as a temporary house for his ego...."
+
+"Temporary?"
+
+"When this body ages and grows feeble, there will be another. Our
+friend has outwitted Death itself."
+
+The doctor looked up, his jaw firm.
+
+"I was instructed to destroy his body when the transference was
+completed. I couldn't do it, Ron. I managed to spirit you away where
+you would be cared for. It was almost a year before you came to your
+senses after the operation. By that time, I didn't know what to do with
+you. My first thought was the Roverwood Home, where I am a director,
+where you would be lost among many, many boys' faces...."
+
+"But why me, doctor? Why me?"
+
+"I had to choose someone, Ron. It was merely a question of who...."
+
+Dr. Luther entered, priming the needle.
+
+"Ready?" he said.
+
+"One moment." The doctor's hand covered Ron's mouth, and he felt the
+contours of a small round pill against his lips. He realized he was
+meant to swallow it, and he did.
+
+"Ready now," Dr. Minton said.
+
+Dr. Luther performed the injection.
+
+"Good night, sweet prince," he said gently.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Ron awoke, it was under a blanket of darkness and ice.
+
+He blinked until his eyes became accustomed to the impoverished light
+that was glowing behind a glass-paned door.
+
+He was on a block of some cold composition, in what must have been the
+Medical Center's morgue. He reacted with revulsion at the thought,
+and leaped off. Then he saw that his left hand was holding a sheet of
+paper. He carried it to the meager light source and read it quickly:
+
+    _Ron_--
+
+    _Don't wait another moment. You'll find a suit of clothes in the
+    closet left. Leave through back stairway marked N. There is money
+    in  suit. Use it to leave the city. Do not return if you value
+    your safety  and the life of_
+
+                                                  _M._
+
+He found the clothes as directed, a neatly-cut suit of boy's clothing,
+with a small wallet stuffed with bills amounting to three hundred
+dollars. He dressed rapidly, opened the door, and peered down the hall.
+It was empty as he ran silently towards the exit marked N.
+
+Now he was doubly in debt to Dr. Minton. But he couldn't spare the
+doctor even now, for his life had been given a new direction and
+purpose.
+
+He was going to kill the Scholar.
+
+He walked rapidly through the dark streets towards the public parking
+lot where the helicopter had been stored. He took the lift to the roof,
+and walked up to it quickly.
+
+"It's about time, pal."
+
+It was Shock, his hair tousled over his hard, bright eyes. There was a
+gun in his hand.
+
+"I've been waitin' an hour, you punk. Think you were gettin' off so
+easy?"
+
+"Look, Shock--"
+
+"You thought you were a clever boy, didn't you? Well, I got news for
+you--"
+
+"Look, I don't want to be leader. I just needed a copter for a few
+hours."
+
+"Yeah, sure. Only you forgot something. We put Finder equipment on this
+baby a long time ago, so we could keep tabs on it."
+
+"You can _have_ the copter--"
+
+"I don't want just the copter, Ronnie boy. I want to square a few
+things with you."
+
+"Look, Shock. I'll make a deal with you. I'll give you two hundred
+bucks for that gun."
+
+The tall boy's face changed. "What?"
+
+"You heard me. You hand over that gun, I'll give you two hundred
+dollars."
+
+His eyes narrowed. "Then what? I suppose you'd shoot me and take off.
+Uh-uh, pal."
+
+"You can check the gun downstairs, and sell me the key."
+
+"Okay," Shock said slowly. "But if you're pullin' something--" He
+balled his hands menacingly.
+
+They went down to the lower level together. Shock bought himself a
+public locker, and shoved the gun inside. Then he held up the key.
+
+"Here it is, pal. Two hundred bucks worth."
+
+Ron handed him the money. Shock whistled at the sight of the bills.
+
+"Now," Ron said. "Would you like to make a hundred more?"
+
+He looked at Ron with respect. "Okay. What's the pitch?"
+
+"I want you to make a phone call for me."
+
+"Yeah, sure." Shock looked bewildered. Then Ron explained.
+
+They reached the guard in the East Wing of the Medical Center without
+much difficulty. Shock crouched over the receiver and said:
+
+"This is Dr. Luther. Something's happened; you better connect me with
+_him_."
+
+"Okay, hold on."
+
+There was a wait. Then Ron Carver's own voice, in its eerie new
+inflection, was on the other end.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"This is Luther. Something's happened down here. I think the boy got
+away."
+
+"What? Where are you?"
+
+"In the morgue, downstairs. I think you better come down yourself."
+
+"How could it happen?" The Ron-voice was raging. "How?"
+
+"I don't know. But you better meet me here in ten minutes--"
+
+Ron jabbed Shock in the side, and the tall boy slammed the receiver
+back into place with a relieved sigh.
+
+"I don't get it," he said. "Who was that guy?"
+
+"Me," Ron said, with a grim smile. He handed Shock the money, and
+watched him depart, still looking baffled. Then he went to the locker
+and removed the gun, stuffing it inside his jacket. It bulked large
+against his narrow chest.
+
+He raced through the streets back to the medical center, heading for
+Exit N and the morgue.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ron was waiting, gun poised, behind the empty slab. A shadow covered
+the dim light behind the glass-plated door, and the Ron-body entered
+the silent room.
+
+He saw his own hand reaching out to flick on the light switch. He saw
+his own face register dismay and annoyance at the quiet scene.
+
+Then the Ron-body turned and was about to leave.
+
+"Stay awhile," Ron said.
+
+He stood up, revealing the weapon, holding it in both of his small
+hands for firm control of the trigger.
+
+"Well," his voice said.
+
+"Yes, well," Ron answered. "Very well, thanks. Only I won't speak for
+you, Scholar. Because I don't think you're well at all. I think you're
+out of your mind...."
+
+The Ron-lips curled.
+
+"Naturally. Genius is akin to madness. It's one of the deep-rooted
+convictions of the human ego. It reflects their suspicion, their
+distrust of the superintelligent ... I understand you, Mr. Carver."
+
+"And I don't understand you! You're something new to me. Maybe you're
+better than us, maybe you're worse. I don't know, Scholar. But that's
+not why I'm going to kill you--"
+
+"Oh?"
+
+"No! You think I want to kill you for the sake of the world? Because
+you're a menace to homo sapiens? Because of your contempt for us
+ordinary mortals? Hell, no, Scholar! I'm too ordinary myself. I'm
+killing you for _me_, for Ron Carver! Because I'm sore! Just plain
+sore!"
+
+He raised the gun.
+
+For a moment, Ron didn't know what had happened. Something else blurred
+his vision, a fast-moving figure bulking up in front of his target. It
+was only when he heard the voice that he recognized the intruder as Dr.
+Minton, and he saw then that the doctor had rescued the Scholar from
+certain death.
+
+"Stop, Ron--"
+
+"Doctor! Get out of the way!"
+
+"No, Ron. You don't know what you're doing--"
+
+The old man was shielding the Ron-body with his own. Ron put the weapon
+down.
+
+"But why?" he said.
+
+"Because this is no answer! This is the assassin's way--" He turned to
+the Ron-body, and his voice was shaking. "Listen, Scholar. I want to
+arbitrate. Will you listen?"
+
+"Do I have a choice?"
+
+"Yes!" the doctor said fiercely. "Life or death! Will you listen to my
+terms?"
+
+The Ron-body shrugged. "All right."
+
+"Very well. Then I want you to spare Ron Carver. I want you to allow
+me to deliver him into the hands of friends, deliver him alive and
+safe. In return, I promise that your twelve-year-old body will leave
+this Earth virtually at once. I will send it to the colony on Mars,
+where it will stay until adulthood. Will you allow this?"
+
+The Scholar's smile was thin. "And that is your only condition?"
+
+"My only one!"
+
+"Doctor--" Ron stepped towards him. "You can't leave things as they
+are--"
+
+"Are you willing, Scholar? Will you let Ron Carver live his life in
+peace?"
+
+The Ron-body stiffened.
+
+"Yes," he snapped.
+
+"Ron--" the doctor waved towards him. "Hand him your gun."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Give it to him! We've made a pact."
+
+Ron hesitated, and then extended the butt towards the Scholar. He took
+it with a slight bow, weighed it in his palm, and then slipped the
+weapon into his pocket.
+
+"You did wisely," the doctor said, with noticeable relief. "If you had
+turned that gun on us, Scholar, I would have killed you on the spot."
+He patted the metallic bulk beneath his own coat. "I came prepared,
+too...."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The copter rose serenely towards the heavenly vault. Ron's small body
+was feeling the effects of the day's strain. It collapsed against the
+leathery cushions, the short arms and legs limp and dangling.
+
+The doctor patted his knee. "Another few moments," he said.
+
+"Where are we going?"
+
+"To the spaceport in Winnipeg. I have a friend there. He has two
+children of his own, both born in the Mars Colony. He'll be returning
+there within the week."
+
+"And you want me to go with him?"
+
+"Yes, Ron. I want you to grow up all over again, and then return
+to Earth. It won't be easy for you, but there will be advantages.
+Your life span has been lengthened. And right now, you know, you're
+something of a prodigy yourself." He chuckled dryly.
+
+"And what happens here?" Ron said bitterly. "What kind of Earth will I
+find on my return?"
+
+"An older Earth. Perhaps a wiser Earth...."
+
+"No, doctor." Ron forced himself to a sitting position. "Not with the
+Scholar alive and thriving, growing stronger and more intelligent with
+every passing year. It'll be _his_ Earth when I return...."
+
+The doctor stared at the night sky before answering.
+
+"No, Ron. He'll never live to see it. I knew that when I selected
+_your_ body to house his mind...."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I chose you for a reason, Ron. A vital reason. When you came to my
+office on your return from Andromeda, I discovered something about you
+which made up my mind. An ailment without a name or a symptom, found
+only rarely in the bodies of a few space travelers. You had it, Ron,
+and in a year or two, it would have struck you down with the savagery
+and surprise of lightning.
+
+"It was then that I agreed to the Scholar's plan to exchange bodies.
+Agreed to it on my own terms, with the body of Ron Carver...."
+
+"Then I'll die!" Ron said.
+
+"No, Ron. You will live. It's the Scholar who has made the bad
+bargain...."
+
+In the distance, the lights of the Winnipeg spaceport blinked a welcome.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Brainchild, by Henry Slesar
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59814 ***