Blood Pact

his tongue. It was Vicki's call.

    "All right," she said at last, straightening. "Tell us what's going on.”

    Dr. Burke took another drink, then visibly slipped into lecture mode. "I am a good scientist but not a great one. I just don't possess the ability to devise original concepts that greatness requires. I am a great administrator. Probably the best in the world. Which means diddley squat. I make a reasonable amount of money, but do you have any idea what a couple of biological patents with military applications could net you? Or something that the pharmaceutical companies could really sink their teeth into? Of course you don't. This is where Catherine comes in.

    "She's a genius. Did I mention that? Well, she is. As an undergraduate she'd patented the prototype of a bacterium that should, with further development, be able to rebuild damaged cells. When I became her adviser, it soon became obvious that she was, like many geniuses, extremely unstable. About to suggest that she seek professional help, I realized that this was my chance. Her research was the only thing that she related to and I was her only touchstone with reality. The whole situation begged to be exploited.

    "Pretty soon I realized we weren't just heading toward monetary rewards but that there was a distinct possibility of a Nobel prize.
    Once we actually managed to defeat death, of course. Sounds insane, doesn't it?" She took another drink. "Let's not rule it out; it might be a valid defense. Anyway, Catherine came up with some pretty amazing possibilities and we began working out experimental parameters.”

    "Don't you guys usually work with rats," Celluci growled.

    "Usually," Dr. Burke agreed. "Are you familiar with the theory of synchronicity? Just as Catherine finished working out the theory, someone in Brazil published a paper involving roughly the same ideas. There was only one way to guarantee we'd win the race.
    We went directly to experimentation on human cadavers. I set up a lab and rerouted the freshest bodies from the medical morgue, you'll excuse me if I don't go into the tedious bureaucratic details of how that was accomplished with no one the wiser, but if you'll remember I did say I was a great administrator. . . .” Confused, she stared down into the mug. "Where was I?”

    "Human cadavers," Vicki snarled.

    "Oh, yes. That was when I realized we needed someone else. Donald had gotten himself in a little trouble at medical school and I'd smoothed things over for him. Mostly because I liked him. Also a genius, he was charming and pretty much completely unethical."
    With exaggerated care, she smoothed out the wrinkles she'd folded into the jacket. "After a while, we began to have some success.
    We'd been using nonspecific bacteria and brain wave patterns, but if we wanted to move on we had to get our hands on a body we'd been able to type before death. That turned out to be Marjory Nelson. When I was certain she was going to die anyway, under the cover of tests on her condition, we took tissue samples and recorded her brain wave patterns.”

    "Then you brought her back to life.”

    Gray eyes opened with a flash of recognition. "More or less. We brought back the mechanics of life, that was all." That was all.
    "Organic robots, if you like. Trouble was, the bacteria are very short-lived and we had a problem with rot. Which, in case you were wondering, was why I wanted your mother partially embalmed." She finished the whiskey remaining in the mug, then lifted it to Vicki in a mocking salute. "If you'd just left that casket closed, no one would have been the wiser.”

    "You seem to be forgetting that you murdered my mother!”

    Dr. Burke shrugged, refusing to argue the point any further. ”So now you know the whole story, or at least the edited for television version. There'll be a test in the morning. Any questions?”

    "Yeah, ignoring for the moment a teenage boy whose death you're also directly responsible for, I've got two." Vicki shoved at her glasses. "Why are you telling us all this?”

    "Well, there are theories that say confession is a human compulsion, but mostly because our little experiment has now moved completely out of my control. Catherine slipped into the abyss and I have no intention of following her." Although just for a moment, with her hand on the latch of the casket, she'd come close. How far, she'd wondered, would they be able to go with a really fresh corpse? And then Donald had told her. But that was