Hulk Peter David (best motivational novels txt) 📖

Talbot was sporting what appeared to be some sort of electrified walking stick. Bruce took note of it in a distant, almost analytical manner, as if the ramifications of the device were of no immediate concern to him. He also noticed, with a bit of smug amusement, that Talbot was looking a bit banged up. The right side of his upper lip was swollen from a cut, and there was considerable bruising on the entire left side of his face. He was also wearing a brace on the first two fingers of his left hand. Considering the pounding that he had given Bruce in their previous encounter, Bruce could only consider it just desserts, a beating well deserved. He only wished he could remember some of the details of it. He seemed to recall something vaguely about a couch, but he wasn’t exactly sure how that fit in.

“Hi ya, Bruce,” Talbot said with the sort of false joviality usually exhibited by a bully who’s convinced he has the upper hand. “How you feeling? Grub okay here for you?”

“You’re looking a little worse for the wear,” Bruce observed. He didn’t sound any more sorry about it than he felt.

Talbot shrugged it off. “I’m fine and dandy. Might need a little reconstructive work on my left index finger. Insurance’ll cover it.”

Bruce nodded as if he cared. “What are you doing here?” he asked, knowing the answer before he posed the query.

“Good question,” said Talbot. He took a step toward Banner, but didn’t get too close, not wanting to put himself in the path of even one of the red targeting dots. “See, I need your cells to trigger some chemical distress signals—you know, so you can get a little green for me again—and then I’ll carve a little piece out of the real you, analyze it, patent it, make a fortune. You mind?”

Well, there it was. One almost had to admire Talbot for his bluntness. But there was more to this than just some powerful company interested in patents. Because if Talbot was marching around here, and Ross père and fille were nowhere to be seen, then that indicated a major shake up in the status quo.

“Who are you really with, Talbot?” asked Bruce silkily.

Talbot blinked. “You know who I represent, Bruce. A private research corporation called Atheon. Pity you didn’t cooperate with us when I first arrived. We could be on the same side right now.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Bruce replied. Considering he had several dozen target sights upon him, he was sounding remarkably relaxed. They weren’t going to kill him; he knew that now beyond question, because they wanted something he couldn’t provide them if he were dead. So here was Talbot, ready to throw twenty gallons of kerosene on a campfire while laboring under the delusion that he wasn’t going to get burned. A blind man during an eclipse had more vision than that.

“Just as I doubt,” Bruce continued, “the notion of a ‘private research corporation’ pushing around the military. That’s just not flying for me, Talbot. Which means, to me, that there’s another branch of the government involved. Atheon is a front for something far more covert than any of Ross’s people, and far more highly placed as well. What are you, Talbot? NSA? CIA?”

“M-O-U-S-E,” grinned Talbot. He actually seemed amused by Bruce’s speculations. “I’ll tell you all about it later, Bruce. Just, right now, let’s bring the big boy out to play, shall we?”

“I’ll never let you,” Bruce said. He meant it, too, even as a plan was forming in his mind. The re-emergence of the Hulk was inevitable. Banner was too intelligent not to see it. Talbot would never stop until he got what he wanted. The problem was that if the Hulk came out in half measures, the various targeting devices would let fly before Bruce was impervious. Then Talbot would quickly acquire the cell samples he wanted, and leave the riddled and vulnerable body of the partly formed Hulk to die on the floor of the containment unit.

So instead Bruce had to bottle it up, bottle it up as hard and as deeply as he could, and then let fly with the transformation all at once. Which meant he had to endure all that Talbot dished out and more. He had to let Talbot push him and push him and push him until he was ready to push back in all his unadulterated fury.

“I’m not sure you have much of a choice,” said Talbot. With that, he took his stick and jabbed it into Banner’s stomach. Sure enough, the stick had electrical properties, and a vicious jolt sent Banner flying backward against the wall. He threw his arms out to either side, braced himself against the wall, steadied the frantic beating of his heart. Despite the gravity of the situation, the irony was also evident. Repeated electrical shocks might, sooner or later, cause his heart to stop. If that happened, then the entire business was going to be moot.

“C’mon Bruce,” he said, “aren’t you feeling a little angry? After all, you only have me to play with, now that Betty’s dumped you and gone back to Berkeley.”

Bruce didn’t buy that for a second. If Betty was gone—and she might well be—it was due to pressure from Talbot. Love and dedication aside, Betty Ross was a scientist above all else, and the Hulk was simply too interesting a project to leave behind willingly.

“You’re lying,” said Bruce with conviction. Then the strength in his legs started to go, a delayed effect from the electrical jolt, and it was all he could do not to slide to the floor.

Talbot stayed where he was. “You know, for me this is a win-win situation. You turn green, all these guys kill you, and I perform the autopsy. You don’t, I mop the floor with you, and,” he added in a conspiratorial whisper, “maybe by accident I go too far and