Blood Pact

forward quietly.

    "So what you're saying is that we have a live man in a dead body?"

    "Yes! And what are we going to do about it?”

    Catherine regarded him calmly. "The bacteria are keeping the body functional.”

    "Yeah, but only for a limited time. He's alive and he's decomposing, and doesn't that bother you just a little bit! I mean, ethical considerations about grave robbing aside, that's one hell of a thing to do to somebody!”

    "Of course it bothers me." She brushed her hair back off her forehead and noted how well number nine was controlling his movements. Any residual lurching probably resulted from mechanical failure in the knees and hips. "What I really think we need are fresher bodies. I have high hopes for number ten.”

    "Fresher bodies!" Donald almost shrieked the words. "Are you crazy?”

    "I've come to believe that the sooner the bacteria are applied the better they do." Her fingers danced over the keyboard. A moment later she offered him the printout. "I've graphed the time factor against the life of the bacteria and the amount of repair they were able to do. I think you'll find my conclusions to be unquestionable. The fresher the body, the longer it will last, the greater the chance of complete success.”

    Donald looked from the papers to Catherine and his eyes widened with a sudden realization. He didn't know why he hadn't seen it before. Maybe the money and recognition Dr. Burke kept talking about had interfered. Maybe the whole godlike concept of raising the dead had clouded his judgment. Maybe he just hadn't wanted to see.

    When he looked number nine in the eyes, he saw a person and that was pretty terrifying. When he put Catherine under the same scrutiny, he didn't recognize what he saw and that was more terrifying still. Heart pounding, he stood and began to back away. "You are crazy.”

    His shoulder blades slammed up against number nine. He whirled and screamed.

    * * *
    The sound hurt.

    But he had learned how to make it stop.

    Donald clawed at the hand wrapped around his throat, fingernails digging into dead flesh.

    Catherine frowned. It looked very much as though number nine had merely responded to Donald's scream. The sound appeared to hurt him, so he stopped it. Without further data, the obvious conclusion was that the young man last night had also screamed. Still, number nine was applying last night's lesson to a new situation and that was encouraging.

    The wet noises were better. Quiet would be better still. He tightened his grip.

    Release! Release! The command had been implanted. Number nine would have to obey. The word roared inside Donald's skull, but he couldn't force it out. His vision went red. Then purple. Then black.

    Number nine looked down at what he held, then up at her. Slowly, he straightened his arm, offering the body.

    She also looked down. Then up. Then she nodded, and he knew he had done the right thing.

    "Put him on the table." As number nine moved to obey, Catherine saved the program she'd been working on and loaded Donald's brain wave patterns into the system. She'd needed a fresher body to test her hypothesis and now she had one. The perfect one. Even the bacteria had already been tailored.

    Except the bacteria were in her other lab down in the subbasement because Dr. Burke had told her to stop wasting valuable experimental time on something that wouldn't be used.

    She could put the net in now and then go for the bacteria or she could go for the bacteria and leave Donald where he was or . . .

    Moving quickly whatever she did, time was of the essence, she opened the isolation box that had held number eight. If she put him in here, she could at least keep him cold while she ran downstairs. Decision made, she touched number nine lightly on the arm.
    "Put him in here.”

    Number nine knew the box.

    The head went so.

    The feet went so.

    The arms lay straight at the sides.

    "Good." Catherine smiled her approval, lowered the lid, then switched on the refrigeration unit. She didn't bother latching the box. She wouldn't be gone long. Pushing him gently, she guided number nine up against the wall and out of the way. "Stay here. Don't follow.”

    Her rubber soled shoes made no sound against the tile as she sprinted for the door.

    Stay here. Don't follow.

    He wanted to be with her, but he did as she said.

    Henry glared at the fire door. Obviously, he couldn't go into the building the same way the creature had come out. Although he might be able