Read Online Memorymakers by Brian Herbert, Marie Landis - Free Book Online Page B

of Jabu’s wrath.
    The necessity of filling orders was instinctual in the Ch’Var race, and virtually nothing could interfere with the drive for completion. The fulfilling of an order was a satisfying experience, almost sexual in its intensity.
    When Emily returned with a steaming mug of coffee, she saw Squick slip a small black device into his inside jacket pocket. She didn’t give it much thought, deciding it was probably a calculator, and set the mug on the nightstand.
    Squick spread his wares on the bed: party favors, balloons and samples of food wrapped in elegant little packages. He opened a large book of photos, displaying a variety of birthday cakes, some in the shape of thunder beasts, some formed to look like clowns or acrobats or animal trainers, even one that looked like a spaceship. The colors of the creations ranged from an unusual yellow-green to deep violet-blue—entrancing hues with lambent rays of light that reflected firelike against the underside of Squick’s chin.
    Emily didn’t like the thunder beast cakes and was glad when Squick turned the page so she couldn’t see them.
    “Let me see,” Squick said. “You’ll be eleven, Tom-Tom. What about this for your tablecloth?” He brought forth a length of deep blue fabric, as a magician might pull an object from a hat. Silver stars glittered on its surface, glinting like suns in distant space, flickering and fading and flickering again.
    “Weird,” Thomas exclaimed. “I like that one.”
    “I thought you would.”
    Squick began a monologue about his wares and services that filled the room with words. Words spilled down the hallway into the farthest corners of the house, and Emily began to feel drowsy. She sat on the carpet and watched Squick’s mouth, the incredible gyrations of his perfect lips. And she watched his eyes, the luminous, almost red eyes that made little clicking sounds when he blinked.
    Thomas sat on the bed beside the array of wares, seemingly too many things to have come from one briefcase. He fingered a party favor, looked up, frowned and said, “I hear buzzing again.”
    This child hears an amoeba-cam? Squick could hear the buzzing of stealth transmitters distinctly; one was in the corner of this very room, identifiable to his Ch’Var eyes as a pale red glow. He hadn’t studied the amoeba-cam reports on this household thoroughly, but recalled the conversations between the children about buzzing noises. Could it mean both children heard the secret frequency? It didn’t seem possible.
    The fieldman stared into Thomas’s eyes. Detecting no Nebulon luminescence there, he reconfirmed this was not a Ch’Var child. It must be something else the boy referred to, though Squick heard no other buzzing. Might it be a different sound, one that only Gweens could hear?
    Squick’s monologue continued, and Emily tried to focus her attention on it. His hypnotic words might have been mouthed by an alien, but she felt she understood chunks of thought, concepts of great significance. Yet if someone had asked her to explain his words at this moment, she would have been helpless to do so. They were a blur. Her head felt excessively large for her body, and she had a strong desire for sleep.
    With his mouth turned in a foolish grin, Thomas said, “Odd-to-the-mega. My head feels like a watermelon. I think you put too much stuff in there, Mr. Squick.”
    As Squick gazed upon the boy, he felt a familiar sensation coming over him—the hoary yearning that could not be denied. The boy’s eyelids were heavy, and he appeared ready to fall asleep. Squick shuddered, touched the tear duct of his own eye with a forefinger and felt icy fluid flow from the duct to the tip of the finger.
    Nebulons! he thought, unable to restrain his joy. It was always like this, a feeling of rampant ecstasy at the accomplishment. Squick couldn’t imagine his life without the ability, and feared the mundane existence suffered by so many impotent Ch’Vars.
    I am fortunate