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medical journals and once, when he was five, he had constructed his own steam engine. But sometimes he couldn’t see things, things that were obvious to Emily. This Squick was a question mark, and Emily hadn’t quite made up her mind about him.
    Upon entering the bedroom, Squick shook his head slowly from side to side. “Funny the things adults demand of kids, wouldn’t you say? Most children tell me their parents deny them their rights.”
    Emily watched her brother show Squick his space books and science fiction anthologies, and thought how extraordinarily odd the man’s comments were. She didn’t like the easy familiarity of this caterer-salesman, or the fact that he called her brother Tom-Tom. It sounded too intimate, almost perverse. But good manners prevailed, and she made no comment.
    Squick sat on the bed, briefcase open on his lap.
    Emily cleared her throat and her voice rose. “I was just wondering: How did you know my name?”
    “From computer files on our clients. Not enough information on file, though. That’s why I’m here today.”
    “But it’s not my party.”
    “You’ll be there, I presume, and as the birthday boy’s sister you’ll occupy a very important position.”
    “Victoria might not like that,” Emily said.
    “I’ll discuss it with her,” Squick said. “She shouldn’t ignore your role.”
    “You’d do that?” Emily asked.
    “I would.”
    For the moment he seemed like a nice man to Emily, one who saw through Victoria. Emily stared at the samples in his briefcase without focusing on them. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked with a smile. “Or a cold drink?”
    “Coffee’s fine. Black please.” Squick returned her smile. It was the toothy smile she’d thought insincere the day before. Now it seemed different.
    “It’ll take me awhile,” she apologized.
    “Don’t rush,” Squick said.
    When she was gone, Squick asked the Seven Sacred Questions, firing them at Thomas in the hypnotic Ch’Var voice that had to be answered truthfully. Squick ran through them quickly. He asked for the boy’s happiest and saddest memories, whether he looked forward to each day, what he enjoyed doing most, what he thought of the people closest to him, what the best or worst things were about being alive, and whether he was afraid of anything or anyone.
    Thomas’s answers came without hesitation and were concise, as required by the voice. They revealed to Squick’s trained ears that the boy had a positive outlook about the world and that he got along well with people around him, even with a stepmother who apparently could be difficult at times. The boy’s saddest memories concerned the loss of his mother. No longer could he remember her face, and this bothered Thomas a little. But these feelings were not enough to disqualify the child, since he had overcome them to a remarkable degree.
    All answers went into the hand-held radio-optic transmitter and presently the screen read: “Embidium fits 32 orders. Extract.”
    I’ll take the girl’s, too, Squick thought, without questions. She seems happy.
    Squick had done this before—extracted childhood memories on intuition without the Seven Sacred Questions. Such decisions involved an inherent risk, he knew, but thus far he’d made no mistakes.
    Jabu spoke of this on occasion to all fieldmen, however, hammering home the importance of following proper procedure. “Procedures are for a purpose” was his mantra. “Only employ your Nebulons after following prescribed steps. Nebulons must not be wasted!”
    Once used for embidium extractions, the viruslike organisms could not be reused. They had but one function, Squick realized.
    Of course, the holistically healthy Ch’Var body produced replacement Nebulons all of the time, especially in Squick’s body. If anyone could afford to waste a Nebulon, it was Malcolm Squick, fieldman extraordinaire. His rare physical prowess when it came to Nebulons bolstered him and diminished his fear