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What kind of person would know exactly where you'd be when you dodged? What kind of person would know exactly where to aim that beamgun?" The Guesser had seen what was coming long before the captain finished his wordy interrogation. "Another Guesser, sir," he said. His eyes narrowed. "Exactly," said Captain Reed. "Your apprentice, Kraybo.
"You're either a liar or an idiot," said The Guesser harshly, "and I wish to eternity I knew which!" Kraybo, standing at attention, merely swallowed and said nothing. He had felt the back of The Guesser's hand too often before to expose himself intentionally to its swing again. The Guesser narrowed his eyes and tried to see what was going on in Kraybo's mind.
Hitting a ship in space at ultralight velocities was something else again. Young Kraybo could play baseball blindfolded, but he wasn't yet capable of making the master guesses that would protect a merchantship like the Naipor. But what was the matter with him? He had, of course, a fire-control computer to help him swing and aim his guns, but he didn't seem to be able to depend on his guesswork.
Now, what I want to know is this: were you really guessing or were you following the computer too closely?" "I was following the computer," said Kraybo, in a slightly wavering voice. "I'm sorry for the error, sir; it won't happen again." The Guesser's voice almost became a snarl. "It hadn't better!
Kraybo, whose face had become even whiter, paused for a moment, as though he were going to plead with The Guesser. But he saw the look in his superior's eyes and thought better of it. "Yes, sir," he said in a weak voice. He saluted and left. And The Guesser just sat there, waiting for what he knew would come. It did. High Lieutenant Blyke showed up within two minutes after Kraybo had left.
He could already feel the terrible pain of the nerve-burner coursing through his body a jolt every ten seconds for two minutes, like a whip lashing all over his body at once. His only satisfaction was the knowledge that he had sentenced Kraybo to ten minutes of the same thing.
"Yes, sir," said the tense-faced Kraybo. "I admit my error, and I'm willing to take my punishment." The Guesser grinned wolfishly. "Well, isn't that big-hearted of you? I'm very glad you're willing, because I just don't know what I'd do if you refused." Kraybo's face burned crimson, but he said nothing. The Guesser's voice was sarcastically soft.
The Guesser hated to have Kraybo punished, really, but that was the only way to make a youngster keep his mind on his business. After all, thought The Guesser, that's the way I learned; Kraybo can learn the same way. A little nerve-burning never hurt anyone. But that last thought was more to bolster himself than it was to justify his own actions toward Kraybo.
He broke down during a Misfit attack on the way here; he was never cut out to be a Master Guesser, and even though he tried to kill you to get the job, he couldn't handle it. He cracked completely as soon as he tried to co-ordinate alone. We've actually missed you, Master Guesser." "May I see to the disciplining of Kraybo, sir?" The Guesser asked coldly. "You're too late. He's been declassified."
He was not only a Guesser, but a first-class predictor, and he showed impatience with those of his underlings who failed to use their ability in any particular. At the moment of the ship's landing, he was engaged in verbally burning the ears off Kraybo, the young man who would presumably take over The Guesser's job one day if he ever learned how to handle it.
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