by Tanya Huff
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 we
re 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.
They would have to take precautions, of course. The legendary vampire had been accredited with a number of abilities that could be a threat. While many of them could be discounted out of hand—as he hadn’t been able to get out of the isolation box before sunrise, the actual vampire appeared incapable of becoming mist—he was very strong; the dents he’d added to number nine’s pattern on the inside of the lid testified to that. So it’s probably best that he spend his nights locked in that box.
He’d have to be fed, of course, if only to replace the fluids Catherine removed during the day. Fortunately, there were a number of small tubes available that blood could be passed through.
And as for the granting of eternal life. Dr. Burke drummed her fingertips on the desk. Henry Fitzroy’s identification seemed to indicate that he lived a reasonably normal life, even considering that the day was unquestionably denied him, and nothing but legend indicated that he’d lived any longer than the twenty-four years his driver’s license allowed him. She’d have to discuss his history with him later—not that it mattered much. What point in living forever if forever had to be lived in hiding? Skulking about in the dark. Helpless in the day. Not, I think, for me.
After years of being anonymously responsible for keeping the infrastructure of science running, she wanted recognition. She’d spent long enough tucked away out of sight, tilting with bureaucracy while others garnered the glory.
One lifetime, properly appreciated, would be long enough. Conquering death had always been merely a means to an end and she had no more intention of becoming a blood-drinking creature of the night than she did of allowing her body to be used to create one of those shambling monstrosities she’d told Catherine to destroy.
Although, perhaps when Catherine has all the bugs worked out . . .
Resisting the temptation to begin composing her acceptance speech for Stockholm, Dr. Burke forced herself to concentrate on the grant application. When she’d dealt with this last bit of unavoidable paperwork, she’d be free to spend a few hours in the lab. She was actually looking forward to the unavoidable conversation with their captured vampire.
Half an hour later, a tentative knock at the office door brought her up out of a projected balance sheet that proved at least one of the department’s professors had taken a course in economics—and not paid much attention.
“Come in.”
Mrs. Shaw leaned into the room. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving now, Doctor.”
“Is it as late as all that?”
The older woman smiled. “It’s later. But Ms. Grenier and I pretty much cleared the backlog.”
Dr. Burke nodded approvingly. “Good. Thank you for all the hard work.” Appreciation made the best motivator regardless of where it was applied. “There’ll be another stack out there tomorrow,” she added, indicating the pile of folders on the comer of her desk.
“You can count on me, Doctor. Good night. Oh.” The door, in the process of closing, opened again and Mrs. Shaw reappeared. “Marjory’s daughter was around this morning. She wanted Donald Li’s home address. I hope you don’t mind.”
“A little late now if I did, isn’t it?” Somehow, she managed to keep the question light. “Did Ms. Nelson tell you why she wanted Donald’s address?”
“She wanted to talk to him about her mother.” Mrs. Shaw began to look worried at the expression on her employer’s face. “I know it’s against policy, but she is Marjory’s daughter.”
“Was Marjory’s daughter,” Dr. Burke pointed out dryly. “Never mind, Mrs. Shaw.” There was no point in getting annoyed so long after the fact. “If Donald doesn’t want to talk to her, I’m sure he can take care of it himself.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Good night.”
Dr. Burke waited a moment, to be certain that this time the door would stay closed, then pulled the phone across the desk and tapped in Donald’s number. After four rings, his answering machine came on with a trumpet fanfare and the message that “. . . autographed pictures are available for twenty dollars plus a self-addressed, stamped envelope. For personal dedications, add five dollars. Those actually wishing conversation with Mr. Li can leave a message after the tone and he’ll get back to you the moment he has a break in his too, too busy schedule.”
“This is Dr. Burke. If you’re there, Donald, pick up.”
Apparently, he wasn’t there. After leaving instructions that she be called at his earliest opportunity, Dr. Burke hung up and shoved the phone away.
“He’s probably spent the day avoiding that woman. At least he didn’t lead her to the lab.”
The lab . . .
A memory nibbled at the edge of conscious thought. Something to do with the lab. She leaned back in her chair and frowned up at the ceiling tiles. Something not quite right that the incredible discovery of the vampire had distracted her from. Something so normal . . .
. . . leaned back against number eight’s box, allowing the soft vibration of machinery to soothe her jangled nerves.
Number eight no longer existed. The vampire was in number nine’s box but both number nine and number ten had been sitting passively against the wall.
Who was in number eight’s box?
Then a second memory surfaced.
Gathering up the contents of the wallet, she tossed them onto a pile of clothes draped over a nearby chair.
It suddenly got very hard to breathe.
“Oh, lord, no . . .”
They could hear the phone ringing from the hall. As could be expected under the circumstances, the key jammed.
Four rings. Five.
“Goddamnit!” Her mood not exactly sunny, Vicki backed up and slammed the bottom of her foot against the door just below the lock. The entire structure shuddered under the impact. When she grabbed the key again, it turned.
“Nothing like the Luke Skywalker method,” Celluci muttered, racing for the phone.
Nine rings. Ten.
“Yes? Hello?”
“Good timing, Mike. I was just about to hang up.” Celluci mouthed “Dave Graham” at Vicki, jammed the receiver between ear and shoulder, and readied a pen. “What’ve you got for me?”
“I had to call in a couple of favors—you owe me for this, partner—but Humber College finally came through. Your boy was recommended to the course by a Dr. Dabir Rashid, Faculty of Medicine, Queen’s University. And as a bonus, they threw in the information that he requested young Mr. Chen serve his four-week observation period at Hutchinson’s.”
“No mention of a Dr. Aline Burke?”
“Nary a word. How’s Vicki?”
Good question. “Damned if I know.”
“Like that, is it? You gotta remember that death affects different people different ways. I know when my uncle died, my aunt seemed almost relieved, handled the funeral like it was a family reunion. Two weeks later, blam. Completely fell apart. And my wife’s cousin, he . . .”
“Dave.”
“Yeah?”
“Later.”
“Oh. Right. Listen, Cantree says to take as much time as you need for this. He said we’ll manage to muddle through somehow without you.”
“Nice of him.”
“He’s a saint. Let me know how it shakes down.”
“You got it, buddy.” He turned from hanging up the phone to find Vicki glaring at him. “Our Tom Chen got his recommendation from a Dr. Dabir Rashid, Faculty of Medicine, Queen’s University. I don’t suppose that could be an alias for Dr. Burke?”
“No. I met Dr. Rashid briefly yesterday.” Vicki stomped across the room and threw herself down onto the couch. “He’s a year older than God and isn’t sure if he’s coming or going. I assume he has tenure.”
Celluci dropped a hip on
to the telephone table and shrugged. “Easy to confuse, then, if you wanted him to do you a favor you didn’t want traced.”
“Exactly.” Vicki spit the word out. “He probably thought he was recommending the Tom Chen who’s actually studying medicine.” She jabbed at her glasses. “From what I saw, if he even remembers giving it, he’ll never remember who asked him to do it.”
“Then we’ll have to stimulate his memory.” Vicki snorted. “The shock would probably kill him.”
“You never know. The recommendation included a request that Chen serve his four-week observation period at Hutchinson’s—the more details, more chance one of them stuck.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Snatching up a green brocade cushion, she threw it against the far wall. “Jesus, Mike; why isn’t it ever easy?”
Another good question. “I don’t know, Vicki, maybe . . .”
His voice trailed off as he watched all the color suddenly drain out of her face. “Vicki? What’s wrong?”
“It’s a four-week observation period.” Her hands were shaking so violently she couldn’t lace the fingers together, so she curled them into fists and pressed the fists hard against her thighs. “My mother was given six months to live.” She had to force the words out through a throat closed tight. “They couldn’t keep placing people in that funeral home.” Why hadn’t she seen it before? “My mother had to die during those four weeks.” She turned her head and met Celluci’s gaze square on. “Do you know what that means?”
He knew.
“My mother was murdered, Mike.” Her voice became steel and ice. “And who was with my mother seconds before she died?”