Blood Pact

implications are staggering. That we might be talking Nobel Prize . . .”

    "They don't give the Nobel Prize to body snatchers," Donald pointed out.

    Dr. Burke smiled. "They do when they've conquered death," she said. "Do you know what people would be willing to do for the information we're discovering?”

    "Well, I know what I've done for it." Donald watched as across the lab Catherine guided number nine to a chair. Mere weeks ago, the ex-vagrant had been lying unclaimed on a slab. And now, if death hasn't been reversed, well, it's certainly been given a kick in the teeth. "Look, why wait any longer? With the tricks we've got Cathy's bacteria to do already, not to mention old number nine's apparent brain-computer interface, we could easily cop the prize now.”

    "We've been through this, Donald. If we publish before we finish, we'll never be permitted to finish.”

    "Government," Catherine interjected, "has no business regulating science.”

    Donald looked from the doctor's stern features to his fellow grad student's obstinate stare. "Hey! I'm on your side, remember? I want my share of the profits not to mention a shot at a Nobel Prize. I just don't want my butt getting tossed behind bars where some lowlife built like a gorilla will no doubt bend me over and ram . . .”

    "You've made your point, Donald, but I honestly doubt that the police are going to put that much effort into finding young Mr.
    Chen. All too soon, there'll be indignities performed on living bodies that will need their attention.”

    "Yeah? Well what about that Vicki Nelson, the daughter? I hear she's hot shit.”

    Dr. Burke's brows drew down. "While I find this sudden affection of yours for scatological references distasteful, you have a point. Not only was Ms. Nelson previously a police detective, but she's now a private investigator, and not, by all reports, the sort of person to give up easily. Luckily, there's exactly the same lack of information for her as there is for the police and while it might take her longer to grow discouraged, she still won't find anything because we've been very careful to leave nothing for her to find. Haven't we?”

    "Well, yeah.”

    "So stop worrying. It was unfortunate that they decided to open the casket, but it's hardly the disaster you're making it out to be.
    Don't you have a tutorial this afternoon?”

    "I thought you wanted me to stay close?”

    "I want you to behave exactly as you normally do.”

    He grinned, unable to worry about anything for long. "That is to say, badly?”

    Dr. Burke shook her head and half-smiled. "Go.”

    He went.

    " Is he in any danger, Dr. Burke?”

    "Didn't I just say he wasn't?”

    "Yes, but . . .”

    "Catherine, I have never lied to Donald. Lies are the easiest way to lose the loyalty of your associates.”

    Apparently unconvinced, Catherine gnawed on her lower lip.

    Dr. Burke sighed. "Didn't I promise you," she said gently, "back when you first approached me, that I'd take care of everything?
    That I'd see to it you could work without interference? And haven't I kept my promise?”

    Catherine released her lip and nodded.

    "So you needn't worry about anything but your work. Besides, Donald's dedication to science isn't as strong as ours." She patted the isolation box that held the remains of Marjory Nelson. "Now then, if you could set up the muscle sequences, I'd best get back to my office. With Mrs. Shaw home having hysterics, God only knows what's going on up there.”

    Alone in the lab, Catherine crossed slowly to the keyboard and sat, staring thoughtfully at the monitor for a few moments.
    Donald's dedication to science isn't as strong as ours. She'd always known that. What she was just beginning to realize was that perhaps Dr. Burke's dedication to science wasn't as strong as it might be either. While there'd always been a lot of talk about the purity of research, this was the first she'd heard of infinite applications and profit sharing.

    Behind lids that had lost the flexibility to completely open or completely close, filmy eyes tracked her every movement.

    Number nine sat quietly, content for the moment to be out of the box.

    And with her.

    "So, how is she?”

    Celluci stepped out of the apartment and pulled the door partially closed behind him. "Coping.”

    "Humph. Coping. This evil thing has happened and all you can say is she's coping." Mr. Delgado shook his head. "Has she cried?”

    "Not while I've been with her, no." It took an