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 lowered his head and the reflection of the stars slid off the artificially moist surface of his eyes.
Chapter Three
"That is not a healthy heart."
Donald peered over the edge of his surgical mask and into the chest cavity. "Not now it isn't," he agreed. "Didn't smoke, didn't drink, and just look at it. Almost makes you want to go out and party."
With a deft stroke of the scalpel, Dr. Burke exposed the tricuspid valve and began to remove the shredded membrane. "I wasn't calling for moral commentary, Donald. Pay attention to what you're doing."
Not noticeably chastened, Donald emptied the hypodermic he held, drew it out of the corner of the eye socket, and picked up a smaller needle. The liquid in the chamber appeared almost opalescent in the glare of the fluorescent lights. "All right, boys," he carefully slid the point through the cornea, "time to go to work. Lift that curve, tote that bail, if you don't repair the iris, then you're in the pail."
"We can do without the poetry, thank you." Tight sutures closed up the incision in the heart. "If you've hydrated both eyes, help Catherine in the abdominal cavity. We've got to get those blood vessels tied off as soon as possible so we can get the nutrient fluid circulating.
"Time is vitally important in work of this nature... " The lecture continued as Donald placed soaked cotton swabs over each staring eye and moved around to the side of the table. "Fortunately, the first step in the embalming process toughens the vessels, making them easier to work with at speed and enabling us to... "
"Uh, Doctor, this is our tenth cadaver," Donald reminded her, suctioning away the sterile solution they used to force the embalming fluid out of the body. Catherine, who'd been suturing under water, shot him a grateful smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling up above her mask. "I mean, we know all this. And we did do six of the previous nine with our own little fingers."
"And you did do an excellent job. I only wish my schedule had allowed me to give you more assistance." Dr. Burke was more than willing to give credit where credit was due as, at the moment, it didn't mean anything. She reached behind her for a tiny motor and an electric screwdriver. "That said, it never hurts to be reminded of how important the proper balance of moisture is to healthy tissue."
Donald snickered and in a nearly perfect imitation of the sultry voice in the commercial intoned, "How dead do you think I am?"
Dr. Burke stopped working and turned to stare at him. "I must be more tired than I thought. I actually found that funny."
Catherine shook her head and fished out the end of another artery.