Blood Pact by Tanya Huff Read Free Book Online

program I wrote for them is pretty basic; are you sure they can do something that complicated?”

    "Well, number nine can." She patted the broad shoulder almost affectionately. "Number eight may need a little help.”

    "A little help. Right." Grunting with the effort, he dragged a pair of sandbags out of the van. "Well, if they're so strong, they can carry these.”

    "Give them both to number nine. I'm not sure about eight's joints.”

    Although living muscles strained to lift a single bag off the ground, number nine gave no indication that it noticed the weight, even after both bags had been loaded.

    "Good idea," Donald panted. "Bringing them along, that is. I'd have killed myself getting those things inside." Fighting for breath, he glanced around the parking lot. The light over by the garage barely illuminated the area and he'd removed the light over the delivery entrance that afternoon. "Let's just make sure nobody sees them, okay. They don't look exactly, well, alive.”

    "Notices them? " Catherine moved number eight around to face the door, then turned and discovered number nine had moved without help. "We better be sure that no one notices us .”

    "People don't look too closely at funeral homes." Still breathing heavily, Donald slipped his key into the lock. "They're afraid of what they might see." He shot a glance at number nine's gray and desiccated face perched above the collar of a red windbreaker and snickered as he pushed the door open. "Almost makes you wish someone would stumble over Mutt and Jeff here, doesn't it?”

    "No. Now get going.”

    Long inured to his colleague's complete lack of a sense of humor, Donald shrugged and disappeared into the building.

    Number nine followed.

    Catherine gave number eight a little push. "Walk," she commanded. It hesitated, then slowly began to move. Halfway down the long ramp to the embalming room, it stumbled. "No, you don't . . ." Holding it precariously balanced against the wall, she bent and straightened the left leg.

    "What took you so long," Donald demanded as the two of them finally arrived.

    "Trouble with the patella." She frowned, tucking a strand of nearly white-blond hair back behind her ear. "I don't think we're getting any kind of cell reconstruction.”

    "Yeah, and it's starting to smell worse, too.”

    "Oh, no.”

    "Oh, yes. But hey…" he threw open both halves of the coffin lid, "let's not stand around sniffing dead people all night. We've got work to do.”

    Number eight's fingers had to be clamped around the corpse's ankles, but number nine took hold of the shoulders with very little prompting.

    "I'm telling you, Donald," Catherine caroled as they guided the two bodies back up the ramp, "number nine has interfaced with the net. I'm sure we're getting independent brain activity.”

    "What does Dr. Burke say?”

    "She's more worried about decomposition.”

    "Understandable. Always a bummer when your experiments rot before you can gather the data. Stop them for a second while I get the door.”

    The two grad students did the actual loading of the van. Not even Catherine could figure out a series of one-word commands that would allow number eight to carry out the complicated maneuvers necessary. And, as Donald reminded her, both speed and silence were advisable.

    "Because," he added, settling number eight into place, "what we're doing is illegal.”

    "Nonsense." Catherine's brow drew down. "It's science.”

    He shook his head. He'd never met anyone who came close to being so single-minded. As far as he'd been able to determine, she had almost as little life outside the lab as their experimental subjects did, and considering that they were essentially dead, that was saying something. Even stranger, she honestly didn't seem to care that what they were doing would result in fame and fortune all around. "Well, in the interest of science, then, let's try to stay out of jail." He gave number nine a push toward the vehicle.

    Number nine