Hulk by Peter David (e reader manga TXT) 📕

or perhaps about the possibility that something might blow up in his face and take his face along with it. Still, he got the job done better than any dozen men with whom Bruce had been associated, and so Bruce was willing to tolerate Harper’s little quirks. Fortunately enough, Bruce wasn’t of the temperament to let a great deal bother him.

Except your own reflection, he thought.

Annoyed with himself for mentally retreating to his mirror encounter—which had been elevated in his mind, much to his irritation, from a simple shave to some vast analysis of his psyche—Bruce pushed away all such irrelevant considerations and concentrated instead upon the gammasphere.

The round chamber sat glistening before him, the product of two years of meticulous planning and labor. Shielded with glass a foot thick, the lower section was lined with glittering panels, reflectors designed to process and focus the radiation that would be carefully manipulated by the scientists outside. In the center of the gammasphere, staring out passively from within a small dome atop a pedestal, was a frog. The dome was perforated with microscopic airholes that would both enable the frog to continue breathing and for gases and the like to pass through and reach the test subject. A focusing mirror was situated directly above the pedestal.

Bruce referred to the frog as “Number Eleven.” This didn’t sit well with Harper, who insisted on naming every damned one of the test subjects over Bruce’s objections. This one he had dubbed “Freddie.” Bruce considered it unprofessional. One simply didn’t humanize test subjects. He’d commented rather loudly during one lunch meeting that it was pointless to expend emotional energy becoming attached to experimental creatures. Whereupon Betty, without looking up from her tuna sandwich, had commented rather pointedly that if one wasn’t going to become too attached to experimental creatures or to other human beings, what was one going to become attached to? Harper had looked puzzled, and Betty had just smiled sweetly, but Bruce had been all too aware that the oblique observation was directed at him.

What did she want from him? Why couldn’t she simply accept that he wasn’t like her? What was it about women that made them feel compelled to try to change the men they loved?

Well, that was how much Betty truly knew him, he decided. Because if she knew him at all, she’d be aware that if there was one thing Bruce Krenzler didn’t do well with, it was change. He was too set in his ways, too locked into the man he was, to see beyond to other possibilities. Personal transformation wasn’t his forte. Ask anyone.

Bruce made a last minute check of the levels, and glanced across the room to make eye contact with Harper. Harper had just finished his own cross-checks, and nodded once to indicate that he was good to go.

“Harper,” said Bruce, “release the nanomeds.”

Harper nodded once, his hair flopping around like so much seaweed as he pressed a release valve. There was a hissing sound as the chamber filled with gas.

Freddie the frog glanced around in passive bewilderment. He didn’t see the nanomeds, of course. He would have required eyes formed on Krypton to be able to discern them. He did, however, hear the soft hiss of the gas. He flicked his tongue out experimentally, in the off chance that there was something in the gas that would provide nourishment.

“Okay,” said Bruce, taking a deep breath and then letting it out slowly. “Let’s hit Freddie with the gamma radiation.”

Harper punched instructions into a keyboard, muttering softly to himself something that Bruce at first didn’t hear. But then he did, the words repeated softly, like a mantra: “Let it work, let it work, let it work . . .” At that, Bruce had to smile, albeit very slightly. He wondered whether Harper was so desperate for it to work because he wanted the project to succeed . . . or because he was concerned about the fate of the frog should the experiment fail.

A pinpoint stream of gamma radiation hit the focal lens above the pedestal. In a flash, it zapped the frog across the chest. The poor creature flipped over onto its back for a moment, its little arms and legs flailing before it was able to take the time to recover and right itself. Had there been any exposure to open air from the chamber, there would doubtless have been the faint smell of burning meat. Certainly the sound would have been unpleasant. But instead Bruce and Harper were conveniently isolated, and the only thing they were able to observe was the ugly gash the frog had acquired on its chest.

Freddie was still stumbling about, looking disoriented. The frog blinked furiously, probably wondering if this was the first step toward prepping it to become an entrée; perhaps it was about to lose its legs to some gourmand.

For a moment there was nothing. Bruce watched. And then slowly, miraculously, the wound began to close up. As it closed, it left a zone of throbbing, almost fluorescent green in its wake, the freshly produced tissue saturated with color.

Bruce couldn’t believe it. Next to him, Harper was chortling with pleasure and triumph, and then he heard a female voice, so close to him that she was practically breathing in his ear, whisper, “Yes!”

He turned to see, to his surprise, that Betty Ross was standing there. He had no clue how long she’d been there, but obviously it had been long enough to observe the results of the experiment. He hadn’t even been aware that she was in the lab, or else he would have held the tests up. He had thought she was out at a conference, and yet here she was in the flesh. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised at that. Betty routinely blew off national gatherings, claiming the work she and Bruce were doing was so evolved past anyone else’s that hanging around with other scientists, looking for tips and clues and guidance, was