by Peter David
Getting the interlock in order was certainly a priority. It was the device that automatically sealed the sphere when gamma radiation was released. It was a fail-safe device, and the prospect of having something go wrong with it was simply unthinkable.
As Harper grabbed a respirator mask and entered the airlock gammasphere chamber, Betty sidled over to Bruce, who was seated at his monitor station and watching everything occurring with hawklike intensity. “Bruce, I thought we should talk. About Glen.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” said Bruce. He still sounded angry. Amazing that Glen could bring that out in him. Then again, perhaps not. Glen had certainly brought it out in her enough times.
As gently as she could, she said, “Hey, Bruce. It’s me.”
Bruce was watching Harper through the glass window. Harper was wedged in the center of the gammasphere, testing the interlock switch. But he took the time to look at Betty and smile. He had a lovely smile. He should do it more.
“Sorry,” said Bruce.
“Don’t worry about him, okay? I’ll handle it.”
Bruce looked at her warily. “How?”
She knew the answer before he asked, but even so she couldn’t quite believe she was saying it. “I’ll call my father. He can exert some pressure.”
Slowly Bruce shifted the whole of his attention to her. If she’d just informed him she’d been impregnated by the shade of Elvis while pumping gas, she couldn’t have been subjected to a more cautious look of bewilderment.
“Last I heard,” said Bruce, “you and your father weren’t speaking.”
Betty shrugged, trying to sound offhand about it, as if the concept was the most routine matter in the world. “All the more reason I should call him.”
The thought of doing so wasn’t exactly on Betty’s top ten list of things she’d like to do. In fact, it didn’t even place in the top one hundred. But her thoughts on Bruce’s reaction to Talbot had caused her to reassess her feelings. Obviously she had completely misjudged the depth of feeling that Bruce had for Talbot, and she’d exacerbated it by going out to dinner with him. That had been very, very foolish. Not only had it upset Bruce, but it had also given Talbot an inflated sense of self-confidence. There was nothing to do for it now but try to make things right, and if that meant swallowing some pride and asking her father’s help, so be it.
The problem was that she had no way of knowing for sure if Thunderbolt Ross would even agree to help. Her father didn’t know Bruce from Shinola, so it was unlikely he would intervene just to keep Dr. Bruce Krenzler happy in his work. In fact, considering the track record of their relationship, the one that Thunderbolt Ross would most likely be worried about was Glen Talbot. Still, she felt as if she had to do something, and her father seemed the best way to go.
At that moment, Harper called out through the intercom. “Um, I think the circuit kind of fried, or—I don’t know. Maybe you want to take a look.”
“Okay, hold on,” said Bruce.
Bruce went into the experiment area, picking up a respirator mask. He entered the clean room, mask in hand, and Betty was watching Harper’s continued efforts with the interlock switch when it suddenly shorted out. Sparks jumped from it, and Harper let out a high-pitched, shrill, and startled scream. Lights began to flash and a quiet, firm recorded female voice began reciting a countdown to what would most assuredly be total disaster.
The sound of Harper’s scream briefly froze Bruce in the clean room, his mask still dangling from his hand. Then Bruce saw the flashing lights, heard the commencement of the countdown, and still couldn’t quite process what had just happened. So this is how it starts, he thought as the lights flashed as though the lab were some theater announcing to its patrons that intermission was nearing its end. He heard the countdown heading down from twenty, still figured that there was time to avert a complete and total disaster, as long as Harper got clear of the gammasphere. . . .
And it was at that instant, of course, that the panicking Harper, trying to back out of the gammasphere, snagged his mask on one of the protruding alignment rods. Such was his state of dismay that he obviously had no clear idea of what he’d just done. All he knew was that, all of a sudden, he couldn’t move his head. He yanked it from one side to the other and flailed his arms, looking like a demented radiation scientist trying to hail a fleet of cabs.
Bruce didn’t panic in the slightest. His heartbeat never even sped up. He did, however, allow himself to reflect on the irony of Betty’s frustration with his perpetual equanimity. Harper most certainly allowed himself to be governed by his emotions, and look where it had gotten him: snagged like a hooked fish inside a chamber that was about to go hot with enough rads to flash-fry a mastodon. Three cheers for emotions, while they’re busy getting you killed.
Instead of getting upset, Bruce sprinted into the gammasphere and pulled the snagged mask free. Harper stumbled and Bruce caught him. The last thing he needed was Harper falling and knocking himself cold. He wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of trying to haul Harper’s unconscious body out of the sphere.
“Bruce! The interlock!”
He whirled and instantly saw the problem. Betty wasn’t panicking; she was far too professional for that. But she was barely keeping a lid on as she worked frantically at Harper’s station trying to shut down a system that had no intention of shutting down, thanks to the short circuit.
“Interlock door should now be secure,” the countdown reminded them helpfully. “Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”
The interlock door remained open, putting the entire lab facility at risk the moment the gamma cannon went off, discharging its particles into the air. She was hammering at the keyboard in a manner reminiscent of anyone who’d ever had a computer freeze up on them, except the stakes were far higher than a melted hard drive. They’d all be melted if the interlock couldn’t be shut down.
“. . . seven . . . six . . .”
Rick the frog watched with, at best, mild interest.
“. . . five . . .”
Bruce looked at Harper, at Betty, at the interlock, at the mask in his hand . . .
And dropped the mask. There was no time, and it was just one more thing cluttering up his grip.
“. . . four . . . three . . . two . . .”
In a desperate move, Bruce hurled Harper backward, sending him tumbling out of the gammasphere.
“. . . one . . . zero. Nanomeds released. Engaging gamma cannon.”
He heard the hissing in the gammasphere. It was louder than he would have thought, always having heard it from behind thick glass. And louder still was the whirring and clicking of the gamma canisters locking into place, the whining of the cannon as it powered up.
When he was younger, Bruce Krenzler had seen a war film in which one guy threw himself on a grenade in order to save his platoon buddies. There had been much animated discussion as the kids had all wondered whether they would have what it took to knowingly lay down their lives in that one ultimate, heroic burst of action. All of them came to the conclusion that, hell, yes, they’d be the ones taking a swan dive on a bomb rather than be one of the guys trying to run in the other direction. Only Bruce had said, “I don’t know what I’d do,” and had naturally been subject to ridicule for admitting it. But he had looked deeply into the eyes of the other kids, and he had fancied that in their gazes he was able to perceive fear and uncertainty. It was one thing to talk a good game, but another to act upon it when crunch time came.
With all of that, Bruce was somewhat surprised to find himself barreling forward before he’d even made up his mind consciously about what he’d do. His response was entirely automatic. He had no idea if it was even going to work: This was radiation, not shrapnel. It was far less predictable. But his mother had always had a saying: “One choice is no choice.” And that was what Bruce was left with.
He slammed himself against the muzzle of the gamma cannon, blocking the opening, just as the canisters released. He heard Betty screaming, Ha
rper crying out in alarm, heard the scream of the gamma cannon merged with the scream ripped from his own throat, and there were other screams, people running, as a desert sky erupted in flames and a young girl was screaming and a man and the dolls were screaming and twisting and burning and he heard a satisfying click as the interlock chose that moment, after the cannon had fired, to unfreeze and seal Bruce in, and Betty was crying out his name from behind the Plexiglas and Bruce was still howling in pain except there was more than pain, there was also triumph and satisfaction and a sense of “At last!” that ricocheted through his mind for no reason and then came more screaming, and Banner thought his face was melting off and his flesh was just sliding right off his bones and puddling around his body except that maybe it was happening and maybe it wasn’t, but he screamed anyway because it just seemed the thing to do, and as Bruce flopped over onto the ground like a beached mackerel, he was briefly relieved to see that his skin was still very much intact, but he felt as if something else had broken or splintered or become separated, and as he slipped away into unconsciousness, he was dimly aware that there was an odd little satisfied smile on his face, and he wondered just who was smiling.
a daughter and son
lost and found
Thunderbolt Ross didn’t bother to get up from behind his desk when Glen Talbot sauntered in. Every time he encountered Talbot in recent days, it was harder for him to believe that he’d ever seen anything in the young man in the first place. Oh, Betty had seen through him. She’d been far more perceptive than her regular-army father, who thought Talbot had had the right stuff when he so obviously didn’t. After all, what man in an army uniform, with a future ahead of him, would ever willingly leave it behind to enter the private sector?
“General. Good to see you again,” Talbot said affably. “Very smooth ride, by the way. I appreciate your—”
“Sit,” Ross told him as if addressing a cocker spaniel. Talbot blinked briefly at the tone, but obediently sat in a chair in front of Ross’s desk. Ross held up the file his aide had given him earlier. “You want to tell me what this is about?” he said, and slid it across the desk to Talbot.
Talbot picked it up and flipped through it. Ross watched his face carefully, looking for some sign of weakness. But Talbot appeared quite relaxed, seeming for all the world like a man who had absolutely nothing to hide. This, of course, annoyed the crap out of Ross.
“It would appear, General,” Talbot said in a leisurely manner, “that this is a folder detailing our plans for the Lawrence Berkeley lab.”
“Why?”
“Why are you showing me this folder?” asked Talbot. “I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest—”
Ross slammed his open hand on the desk, causing the paperweight-and-pen set given to him by Colin Powell to jump. Talbot, for his part, didn’t allow the least reaction to show. “Don’t play games with me, Talbot. It’s bad enough that half the time you go through the National Security Agency instead of me—”
“I try not to, General, but sometimes you leave me no choice—”
Ross spoke right over him. “—when you’re trying to acquire things that I don’t feel are necessary. And this is another one of those. Why have you targeted Lawrence Berkeley?”
“Sir,” Talbot laughed, “I haven’t ‘targeted’ anyone or anything. I just work for Atheon.”
“The acquisition recommendations come from you, Talbot,” said Ross, tapping the sheet. “Very strong recommendations, in fact.”
“And I think you can see why, General.”
“Yes, yes, this whole ‘nanomed’ business.” Ross shook his head. “Science fiction tripe.”
“As was Captain Kirk’s communicator, once upon a time, General. How’s your cell phone?”
Ross scowled so fearsomely that his brows seemed to connect in one dark line. “We both know this has nothing to do with this ‘nanomeds’ nonsense and everything to do with Betty.”
Talbot looked as if he were doing everything he could not to laugh. “Betty? Betty Ross?”
“No, Betty Crocker. Yes, of course, Betty Ross. And I’ll tell you something right now, Talbot,” and he shook a finger at him, “I take a very dim view of your harassing my daughter by shoving yourself back into her life.”
Immediately Talbot was on his feet, and although he was far more contained than Thunderbolt Ross, his own ire was no less evident. “You know, General, a hard truth for you to face is that sometimes, just sometimes, not everything is about you or your precious daughter. Now you can dismiss the research at Lawrence Berkeley all you want, but the bottom line is that I would be making the same recommendations to Atheon I’m making now, regardless of whether LB labs was employing your daughter or Wanda the Dog-faced Girl. Furthermore, you may not want to believe this, General, but I’m glad that you wanted to see me, because I’m about to do you a huge favor.”
“Oh, are you?” said Ross sarcastically.
“Yes, General, and you’re going to be thanking me for it.”
He reached into a portfolio that he had tucked under his arm and pulled out a blue folder, from which he extracted what appeared to be several black-and-white photographs. “What I’m about to show you, General, is a matter of security, and I think it speaks to the relationship I believe we once had that I’m trusting you enough to bring you into this. I think, as Betty’s father, you ought to know, and therefore I’m sharing this with you.”
“Sharing what? What are you talking about? And what’s the catch?”
“No catch, General. All right, one catch,” he amended. “The catch is you can’t ask me where I got these. I’d think you should be more concerned about what’s in them than their source, anyway.”
He handed the photos over to Ross. The general studied them, frowning. They were obviously private photographs of Betty with some man, taken as part of some sort of surveillance. There were several of them, walking arm in arm through a park, or relaxing together, she leaning against him in an intimate manner. This alone was enough to make him bristle.
“Talbot,” he said slowly, “I don’t give a damn about your catch. You will explain to me why you have my daughter being watched—”
“We’re not. We’re having him watched. Betty just happens to be involved with him . . . and that, I think, might be cause for concern on your part.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “You were right that there’s something more going on with Lawrence Berkeley than the nanomed program, General. But it has nothing to do with anything as relatively unimportant as my past relationship with your daughter. It’s this fellow, right here.”
“What’s so important about him?” demanded Ross, but even as he asked he found himself staring fixedly at the young man’s face. “And why does he seem . . . familiar?”
“You knew his father.”
“I knew his . . .”
And then his eyes widened, and he understood. “Oh, my God. Are you telling me . . .” Talbot nodded and Ross looked back at the photos. “It’s like looking at a ghost,” he whispered. “A ghost of someone who’s still alive, albeit locked away.”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean?” And then Ross was also on his feet, standing up so quickly that he banged his knee on the underside of the desk drawer. He ignored the pain. “The father’s walking around? David Banner? That lunatic? How?”
“He was released from the hospital. He was evaluated, and it was determined he was no longer a threat.”
“God save us from fuzzy-minded liberals and their evaluations!” snarled Ross. “And they’ve no idea where he is? Do you think he might be heading toward his son?”
“It’s possible. He could also be on a slow boat to China; we’ve no way to be sure. But it might be that he is determined to hook up with his son again. And, if that’s the case, Betty might be at risk.”
“There’s no ‘might be’ about it.” He stared at the pictures again, slowly shaking his head in disbelief. “After all these years, Bruce Banner.”
Ross continued to shake his head. “I said at the time having that boy simply disappear into the adoption system was madness. But at the time I was in a hellhole of hot water with a base that was on fire, thanks to the boy’s father. Why should anyone listen to me?” He paused. “Does he know? Does he know who he is, where he came from?”
“I don’t know,” said Talbot. “It’s hard for me to be sure. It’s possible he knows. It’s also possible he blocked it out.”
“So Betty might not know, might not be aware of what she’s gotten herself into. My God . . .” He looked up at Talbot, and his expression softened. “You were right. Dammit, Glen, I may not agree with some of the choices you’ve made in your life, but this time around I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything, General,” Talbot said modestly. “Look, Betty and I may not have worked out, but that was quite a while ago, and besides, it doesn’t mean I don’t want the best for her. And at least I know now that someone who will be concerned about her best interests is on the job. Believe me, General, your involvement in this might just save her life.”
a sacrifice too great?
He saved my life, Bruce saved my life, my God, he’s dead, Bruce . . .
Betty had been pacing her office frantically, only stopping every so often to see if an ambulance had pulled up yet. She was going mad with fear, because she knew that Bruce was lying somewhere in some room where they weren’t letting her see him. She could just imagine what he must look like, sick and dying of radiation poisoning, his skin puckered and burned, his hair falling out in clumps. He was probably blind by this point, hemorrhaging internally. Maybe no ambulance had shown up yet because there was no point. Maybe he was already . . . already . . .
When her phone rang, she jumped nearly three feet and then pounced on it. She listened to the voice at the other end, and didn’t even hang up the phone as she bolted from the room. She just tossed the receiver in the general direction of the cradle and wasn’t around to see it bounce off the phone and clunk to the floor, hanging by the twisted cord.