Eating Memories by Patricia Anthony

code.”
    Moss studied Bobby’s pallid face. “He could sit behind him. I don’t see any problem with that.”
    I drew a chair up behind Bobby’s back, He tried to turn around to watch me, but Moss caught his attention.
    “You’ll have to prevent yourself from turning around and watching Dr, Patel, Bobby. Otherwise we’re going to have to ask him to leave the room, okay? We’re going to take some blood now.” Moss glanced past Bobby to me. “No tranquilizers?”
    “No.”
    Some of the psychics I work with say they see auras. I’ve never seen, one; but, my shoulder to his back, I imagined I could feel the throbbing terror of Bobby’s.
    Moss was skilled with the needle. A moment later he tagged the specimen and picked up some leads. “You’ve seen these, haven’t you?” Moss asked Bobby.
    Bobby nodded wordlessly.
    “Well, we’re going to attach these to your head. They don’t hurt, But they’ll show us what your brain is doing. Okay?” Without waiting for permission, Moss attached the wires. Pity for Bobby welled in my throat and I swallowed it down. Pity, I have discovered, has the flavor of stale coffee and shame.
    When Moss was finished, he stood back.
    “Your name, please?” Stengler asked, looking at the voice stress analyser rather than at Bobby’s face. I wondered if the researcher was as aloof as he seemed or if Bobby frightened him. Bobby frightened a lot of people.
    “Your name?” Stengler repeated tersely when Bobby didn’t reply.
    “Wait a minute,” I said. “He didn’t know you were addressing him. You’ve hardly spoken to him, you know. He’s frightened.”
    “Dr. Patel, we’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak. Your role here is that of observer only. Bobby. We’re going to ask you some questions, all right? And you’ll answer as completely and as honestly as possible. Your name is?”
    “Robert Stanley Harding,” Bobby whispered.
    Stengler said, “Right. A positive. And Bobby. Have you ever heard or read about nuclear winter?”
    “What?” Bobby asked. Even without the analyzer I could hear the thin desperation in the child’s voice.
    Moss broke in. “Did Dr. Patel mention nuclear winter, Bobby?”
    “Nuh uh. I don’t even know what that is.”
    “A simple yes or no, please,” Stengler told him.
    “No, sir.”
    The interrogation went on for thirty minutes. Stengler finally sat back in his chair, putting the stress analyzer down. “We’ve found the parents,” he told me.
    I looked at him.
    “Gilberto Soares gives the names of his parents as Edson Flavio Soares and Tonya Justina Boas. We found them in Manaus. They’re married, and Mrs. Soares is pregnant. If this is a hoax, it’s an elaborate one.”
    I could feel my chest tighten. “Not in front of the boy,” I said.
    “What?” Stengler’s embryonic smile died. He looked confused.
    Moss caught on. Chastened, he tapped Stengler on the shoulder. “Save it, Burton. Later. Dr. Patel, perhaps you could induce trance now.”
    I nodded, touched Bobby on the shoulder and spoke the inducer, “Touchdown.” The boy’s head dropped to his chest. He was into a partial trance, and I was relieved. In trance, I felt, no one could hurt him. No one but me. And I only hurt him to help him. I hurt him in style.
    Moss checked the monitor. “Alpha. Some beta spikes.” He picked up his translation receiver and screwed it into his ear.
    Taking the pump control from my pocket. I thumbed the button. In his partial trance, Bobby snicked.
    “Deep alpha,” Moss said. “A few theta dips. God, that was quick. The Thanapeline?”
    I nodded. When I spoke now, it would be only to Bobby.
    “Take him to age fifty-three.”
    Talking into his ear, softly enough not to alarm him, but loudly enough to be caught on Moss’s tape, I took him back. I saw when it happened. He groaned. Tears started up in his eyes.
    “There’s another person here, Gilberto,” I told him. “He wants to talk with you. His name is Dr. Moss. Do you