Memorymakers by Brian Herbert, Marie Landis Page A

grabbed a chocolate bar.
    “Your reward for winning the engine game.” In a blink the remaining candy bars were gone.
    Thomas tore the wrapper from his treat, and with his teeth he pulled away a large hunk of chocolate taffy. He began chewing it. The gooey candy left a pattern of brown around the edge of his lips, a clown design that enlarged his mouth.
    “Would you like to play more games?” Squick asked.
    The Harvey boy nodded, and Squick saw he was laboring to chew the candy.
    “Now we’ll play the breakfast game, and that’s why I gave you candy first. Guest children get to have candy with every meal.”
    Thomas swallowed a lump of candy and said, “I don’t know how to play the breakfast game.”
    “Oh but you do, only I’m going to show you a different version, one for kids.”
    Squick led the way down a corridor lined with emerald green walls. Light glowed from behind the walls and cast patterns of green across the boy’s face and T-shirt. They passed an alcove lined in silver, from which an eyeless face stared. The eyes had been gouged away hideously, and the sockets dripped blood.
    The boy suppressed a scream.
    “Just a party display,” Squick said. “Some kids like horror fetes, and they get pretty elaborate. Look, there’s another!”
    On their left through a large window of glass, a pond became visible, bobbing with floating bloody heads. They were eyeless and gory like the head in the alcove, but the mouths of these heads moved, as though talking to one another. No sounds reached the corridor.
    “Yuk!” Thomas said, pausing with Squick to gaze at the display. Thomas finished his candy bar, balled up the wrapper and held onto it.
    “You can toss the wrapper. Just sling it. Littering is the law here, young man.”
    Thomas looked surprised, but let the wrapper fall.
    “No social rules here whatsoever, so litter to your heart’s content. Would you like a can of spray paint to deface something?”
    “But the hallway’s clean except for my wrapper. And I don’t see any graffiti.”
    “New rules.”
    “Oh.”
    “Things are always changing. That’s important to understand.”
    They reached the lunch room, and once inside with the boy, Squick locked the door surreptitiously. He motioned his unwitting captive toward a long table, and as Thomas took a seat on one of the benches, the tabletop budded open before him, producing a white linen tablecloth and napkin, a bone china cereal bowl and plate, a silver place setting, and a crystal juice glass.
    Two robot arms with giant hands descended from the ceiling. One hand held a yellow metal basket, and the hand of the other arm dipped into the basket, producing sweet rolls, doughnuts, an array of little cereal boxes, cans of juice, and plates with steaming eggs sunny-side up, pancakes, sausages, and assorted melons. Crystal pitchers of sugar, maple and fruit syrups, cream, and milk completed the fare. A pleasant mixture of odors filled the air.
    “Neat-o,” Thomas exclaimed, his eyes wide. “I’m hungry.”
    The mechanical arm and basket disappeared into the ceiling.
    “No social rules?” Thomas asked while he held a doughnut and gazed impishly at Squick.
    “None whatsoever.”
    Thomas hurled the doughnut across the room, grabbed another and stuffed it in his mouth and smashed his fist down upon the sweet rolls. He filled his bowl with cereal and cream and too much sugar, slurped several spoonfuls, burped gigantically, and wiped his face on the tablecloth.
    “That’s all?” Squick asked.
    “Not quite.” Thomas stood up and yanked the tablecloth, pulling everything to the floor. China, crystal and food crashed in a great, inundating noise.
    “Goodness!” Squick exclaimed, stepping quickly to avoid a stream of berry syrup that drooled across the floor. “You are a bad little boy!”
    Thomas burped again, followed by a rumble of flatulence. “What’s next?”
    “I see you’re getting warmed up.”
    The robot arms reemerged from the