Fact #1: The average 4-year-old asks 437 questions a day.
Fact #2: There are no average 4-year-olds; only exceptional ones.
"Madame President, I really think—"
"Grandma! When's snack time? I want my French fries!"
Inter-Stellar Intelligence Agency Director Martin Feldmeijer bit back words entirely inappropriate for a four year old to hear and thanked heaven the little brat wasn't a telepath. The fate of the world was at stake and the tiny tot wanted tater tots. He cleared his throat. "I —"
"Grand-papa! Où est le pot ? Je dois aller pipi!"
"Excuse me gentleman and ladies," the leader of the United African States rose from his chair in the Madagascar Government Chambers, "I must take my grandson to the lavatory. Please continue without me."
Continue what? Feldmeijer thought, a hysterical note injecting itself in the question. This emergency vid conference had been called to deal with the impending invasion of Earth by hostile forces disguised as a diplomatic envoy. By sheer bad luck it had coincided with the solar system wide "Take Your Child to Work Day." From his satellite headquarters in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter, Feldmeijer was vcing with the assembled leaders of Earth, her satellite stations and Martian colonies, and their children and grandchildren.
The teen-agers he didn't mind; they sat sullen and listless, listening to music on their cyber implants. It was the younger children who were driving him mad.
"I couldn't finish a sentence!" he ranted at ISIA Junior Director Manisha Iyengar after the unsuccessful conference ended without resolution. "Those blasted brats kept asking questions! ‘Where's the potty?'" he mimicked. "'What time is it? What time is it now? Can I have a cookie? What's this button do? How come he gets a cookie? How come that man has a funny nose?'" Unconsciously he touched the offending article. Its aquiline shape had taken on a rather un-aristocratic shape after a run-in with a twelve-armed Mucasian hermaphroditic diplomat some years ago. "'Why is that man's face turning red?'" the face in question flushing even as he spoke. ""What does #@! mean Grandma?'"
As Feldmeijer paused to take a breath, Iyengar inserted in her usual calm tones, "Curiosity is generally held to be a good thing. In the future—"
"We won't have a future," Feldmeijer snapped, unaware of the irony of his interruption, "unless Earth Gov takes action. The Veranians will wipe us out!"
Intelligence sources reported that the heretofore unknown Veranains were planning a massive invasion of the Earth and her territories. A fleet of their ships was already approaching Earth. Their ‘diplomats' and ‘observers' had extended an invention for an Earth delegation to be teleported aboard their ships for a face to face meeting.
"A trap, that's what it is. A trap." Feldmeijer paced the room. "And Earth Gov is too taken-up with the kiddies to do anything about it. As soon as the delegation pops onto the Veranian ship, they'll be hostages! But could I convince them of that? NO!"
While the leaders had eventually sent their children from the room, the discussion had quickly deteriorated into an "I don't like to brag, but my grandchild was solving Einsteinian equations in the womb" and the like, session.