“Jesus H. Christ, Vicki! People aren’t like puppies or kittens. Love isn’t supposed to be that kind of a burden.” He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Then wished he hadn’t when he saw the look on her face. It was almost worse when that expression smoothed into one that told him nothing at all.
“If you are completely finished, Dr. Freud, you can get your god-damned hands off of me.” A twist of her upper body, a step back, and she was free. “Now, are you going to help or are you going to sit around here all day with your psychoanalysis up your ass?”
She whirled, flung open the door, and stomped out into the hall before he had time to answer.
Well, Mr. Delgado.
Celluci dragged both hands up through his hair and tried very hard not to grind the crowns off his teeth.
When you’re right
,
you’re really right
.
Still, she asked for my help. Again
.
I suppose that’s progress of sorts
. Closing and locking the apartment behind him, he hurried to catch up.
Mind you, I’d feel better about that if it wasn’t so obvious that she now feels responsible for Mr. Henry fucking Fitzroy.
Dr. Burke acknowledged Mrs. Shaw’s greeting but continued into her office without pausing. She couldn’t decide what she hated more, bureaucracy itself or the sycophants that fawned around it.
Why
, she wondered,
does it have to be so difficult to end a term? Just send the students home and hose down the blackboards.
The last thing that she needed, after not one but three meetings in which she valiantly attempted to impose logic onto rules and regulations, was to see Marjory Nelson’s daughter wandering the halls of the Life Sciences building, peering through windows into labs and lecture halls and generally making a nuisance of herself. Watching the younger woman’s progress from the anonymity of a shadowed recess, she’d very nearly called Security and had her escorted out. The presence of the Toronto police officer—whom she’d been introduced to briefly at the truncated funeral—changed her mind. Arbitrary actions were just the sort of thing that tended to make the police suspicious.
Besides, the chances of Vicki Nelson stumbling onto the lab, and her mother’s body, were slim. First, she’d have to find the access passage into the old building. Then, she’d have to negotiate through the rabbit warren of halls that crossed and recrossed the hundred-year-old structure—halls that had occasionally, in the past, defeated freshmen armed with maps—to find the one room in use.
No, Vicki Nelson had no chance of finding her mother’s body, but that didn’t mean Dr. Burke liked seeing her hanging around.
Why the hell doesn’t she just go home?
She dropped into her chair and fanned the pile of messages on her desk.
Without her prodding, the police would’ve back-burnered this before they’d even begun.
If only the coffin hadn’t been opened; no one would have been the wiser.
If only Donald hadn’t allowed Marjory Nelson to walk out of the lab and home.
If only the sight of the mother reanimated hadn’t convinced the daughter that the answer lay at the university.
Vicki Nelson was an intelligent woman; even allowing for maternal prejudices, the facts spoke for themselves. Eventually, in her search for her mother, she’d stumble onto something that would jeopardize Dr. Burke’s position. Dr. Burke had no intention of allowing that to happen.
Slowly, the Director of Life Sciences smiled. The incredible circumstance that had dropped a vampire into her hands had also given her an easy answer to the problem. “If Ms. Nelson wants to find her mother so badly,” she murmured, tapping out the number for the lab, “maybe she should.”
Catherine answered the phone on the third ring with a terse, “What is it, Doctor? I’m busy.”
“How are the tests going?”
“Well, you want rather a lot done and . . .”
“Isn’t Donald helping?”
“No, he . . .”
“Has he even been in today?”
“Well, no, he . . .”
“I don’t want to hear his excuses, Catherine, I’ll deal with him myself later.” This wasn’t the first time Donald had taken an unscheduled holiday, but it
was
time she put her foot down about it. “Have you run into anything this afternoon that might prevent us developing an AIDS vaccine?”
“Well, actually, I’ve observed that certain nonphagocytic leukocytes have a number of specialized functions on a cellular level that might possibly be developed into just that.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “We’d have to practically drain Mr. Fitzroy to acquire a serum, though, and his pressure’s already awfully low. I keep having to take new samples because even a minute amount of ultraviolet light destroys the cell structure.”
“For pity’s sake, Catherine, don’t let any ultraviolet light fall on him. We can always replenish his blood . . .” The thought brought an interesting evisceral response that could possibly be explored later when they had more time. “. . . but if he loses cellular integrity, even your bacteria won’t be able to rebuild him.”
“I am aware of that, Doctor. I’m being very careful.”
“Good. Now, then, since Mr. Fitzroy so fortuitously fell into our hands, I’ve altered our plans somewhat. Here’s what we’re going to do: run one final analysis on numbers nine and ten—
no point in wasting data that might be useful later
—then terminate them, strip them of all hardware, do the usual biopsies, and process both of them out through the medical morgue. We’ll work up the standard paperwork on number nine, but someone’s sure to recognize Marjory Nelson. I’ll see to it that she can’t be traced back to us, everyone will claim ignorance, there’ll be a six days’ wonder, and then we’ll be safely able to continue with no threat of discovery.”
She could hear breathing so she knew Catherine was still on the line, but moments passed and there was no response. “Catherine?”
“Terminate numbers nine and ten?”
“That’s right. We don’t need them anymore.” She felt a triumphant smile spread across her face and made no effort to stop it. “We have captured a creature who in and of himself can unlock the Nobel door.”
Catherine ignored the triumph. “But that’ll kill them!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, they’re already dead.”
“But, Dr. Burke . . .”
Dr. Burke sighed and moved her glasses up on her head so she could rub at her temples. “No buts, Catherine. They’re becoming a liability. I was willing to overlook that when they were our best chance for success, but with Mr. Fitzroy under our control we have an unlimited potential to make scientific history.” She softened her voice. Once again Catherine would have to be manipulated onto the most productive path. “If you can fuse the elements of Henry Fitzroy’s blood into your bacteria, it will make everything we’ve done so far redundant. We’re moving onto a new level of scientific discovery here.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Science moves forward, Catherine. You can’t let yourself be trapped in the past. An opportunity like this doesn’t come along every day.”
Now
, that
was an understatement,
she mused as the triumphant smile returned. “You begin the termination. I’ll be down as soon as I can. Sunset is at 7:47, see that Mr. Fitzroy is locked up tightly a good half an hour before then.”
Sounding numb, Catherine murmured, “Yes, Dr. Burke,” into the phone and hung up.
Shaking her head, Dr. Burke replaced the receiver. In a few days Catherine would be so immersed in new discoveries that she’d forget numbers nine and ten even existed as anything but collections of experimental data.
Which, of course
, she reminded herself acerbically,
is all they are.
Catherine stared at the phone for a moment, turning Dr. Burke’s words over and over in her head. Science had to keep going forward. It couldn’t remain stuck in the past.
Science had to keep going forward.
She truly believed that.
The quest for knowledge
,
in and of itself, is of primary importance.
Those were her own words, spoken to the doctor during her search for the funds and lab space necessary to develop her bacteria to their full potential. Dr. Burke had agreed and they’d taken the quest together.
Terminate numbers nine and ten.
She couldn’t do it.
Dr. Burke was wrong. They were alive.
She wouldn’t do it.
Taking a deep breath and smoothing the front of her lab coat, she turned. Sitting where she’d left them against the far wall, they were both watching her; almost as if they knew. They trusted her. She wasn’t going to let them down.
Unfortunately, bundling them into the back of her van and disappearing into the sunset wasn’t an option. In order to keep them functional, she needed the lab. Dr. Burke, therefore, had to be made to change her mind.
. . .
with Mr. Fitzroy under our control we have an unlimited potential to make scientific history
.
Suppose Mr. Fitzroy was no longer under her control?
Brow furrowed in thought, Catherine crossed the room to the isolation box that held the quiescent vampire. Essentially, it was operating as nothing more than a containment unit with none of its specialized functions working. It wasn’t even plugged in. Theoretically, it was mobile. In actuality, its weight made it difficult to move.
Catherine placed both hands against one end and shoved as hard as she could. Nothing. Bracing her feet against the wall, she shoved again, straining until her vision went red.
The isolation box jerked forward six inches and stopped when she did.
It had taken all three of them, her and Donald and Dr. Burke to move the empty boxes in. Catherine bowed her head over her folded arms, breath misting the cool metal, and admitted she couldn’t move it out, not on her own.
Number nine stood and walked carefully forward, supporting himself once on the back of a chair as his left leg nearly folded beneath him. He had no way of knowing that inside the knee, tendons and ligaments were finally surrendering to rot.
He saw she was sad.
That was enough.
He stopped beside her and laid his hand on her shoulder.
Catherine turned at the touch and looked up. “If we hide the vampire,” she said, “we’ll have time to convince Dr. Burke that she’s wrong.”
There were many words number nine didn’t understand, so he merely placed his palms where hers had been, and pushed.
The isolation box rumbled forward.
“Stop.”
Number nine stopped pushing. The box moved a few inches farther, then ground to a halt under its own weight.
“Yes! We can do this together!” Catherine threw her arms around number nine in an impulsive hug, ignoring the way tissue compacted under her touch, ignoring the smell that had begun to rise.
Number nine struggled to recognize what he felt.
It was . . .
It was . . .
Then her arms were gone and it was lost.
Stepping back, Catherine glanced around the lab. “We can hide the vampire and the other isolation box as well. That way, Dr. Burke won’t be able to hold you hostage for his return. The dialysis machine is portable and an IV drip can replace the nutrient pump for a few days. We’ll take one of the computers with us just in case Dr. Burke takes too long to come to her senses. You shouldn’t suffer from lack of input just because she’s being stubborn.”
Then she paused. “Oh, no. Donald.” Reaching out, she patted the box that enclosed the body of the other grad student. “I can’t unplug you, Donald, it’s too soon. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to leave you here.” She sighed deeply. “I only hope that Dr. Burke will allow you to finish developing. She’s just not thinking straight, Donald. I’ve had this feeling lately that all she wants is fame and money, that she doesn’t care about the experiments. I care. I know you’ll understand.”
Checking her watch, she hurried back across the room to the computer terminal, copied the day’s work onto a disk, and then scrubbed it from the main memory. “Just in case,” she murmured, slipping the copy into her lab coat pocket. “I can’t leave her a way out.”
On her way back to where number nine waited patiently, she picked up the vampire’s trench coat and the shirt she’d had to remove as well. She didn’t have time to dress him again, but she spread them neatly over the body before closing the lid and latching it.
“This is going to take all of us. Number ten, come here.”
Released from the compulsion to stay, she rose to her feet. “Come here” was not an implanted command so, although she knew what it meant, she moved toward the door.
She had something she had to do.
“Stop.” Catherine shook her head and circled around number ten until she could look her in the face. “There’s something the matter, isn’t there? I wish you could tell me what it was, maybe I could help. But you
can’t
tell me and, right now, we’ve all got problems.”
Taking hold of one gray-green wrist, Catherine led Marjory Nelson’s body over to stand beside the front end of the box, wrapped dark-tipped fingers around a metal handle, and said, “Hold.”
The fingers tightened.
With number nine pushing and number ten obeying rapid orders to push or pull, the massive piece of equipment, and the body it contained, rumbled across the lab and out into the hall.
. . . you could tell me what it was . . .
. . . you could tell me . . .
She remembered
talking.
If vampires exist . . .
Dr. Burke scribbled a question mark in the margin of an application for summer research funds that had been handed in at absolutely the last minute. . . .
and they very obviously do, then just think of what else might be out there. Demons. Werewolves. The Creature from the Black Lagoon
. Even though her cheeks were beginning to ache, she couldn’t control the spreading grin. Hadn’t been able to control it all afternoon.
Henry
Fitzroy’s
blood will enable me to collect every
accolade
the scientific community
possesses
on
a
silver platter. In fact,
they’ll
have to create new awards, just for me.