Hulk (8 page)

She had no idea what to say, having had no warning that he was going to be showing up, and no clue why he had done so. In many ways, she felt as if no time at all had passed since the last occasion on which she’d seen him, and parted with him, under less than cordial circumstances. That odd sense of “just having seen him,” combined with the obvious physical evidence that time had passed was very jarring. The first thing she wanted to say was, “Well, this is awkward,” but that hardly seemed like an appropriate opening gambit.

Grasping at conversational straws, she commented, “What happened to your uniform?” She promptly started kicking herself mentally and walked into the lab just to distance herself from him.

Talbot looked surprised, as if she’d come up with a complete non sequitur—which, to a degree, she had. Then, smiling gamely, he stepped back, put his arms out to either side, and turned in a small circle like a model on a runway. That way Betty could admire his sartorial splendor. “I switched over,” he said, following her into the laboratory. He glanced around appraisingly. She definitely didn’t like the way he was looking things over. It made her want to toss drapes over everything to shield it all from view. “Still work with your dad, but you know, the military’s subcontracting out all the most interesting work, and I can’t argue with the paycheck. I basically run all the labs on the base now.”

She in fact hadn’t known that at all. It wasn’t as if she chatted regularly with her father—or at all, really. For some reason she suspected that Glen was fully aware of that, but had chosen to appear oblivious to the strained relationship she currently had with her father. In the meantime, acting as if he had just thought to assess her demeanor, he gave her a quick look over and said heartily, “Hey, you’re looking good.”

Betty inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the compliment. No reason she couldn’t be cordial, particularly until she learned just what he wanted. “So,” she said, “why are you here?”

But the neutrality of her reaction and the lack of enthusiasm she bore for his sudden reentry into her life were all too evident to Talbot. Voice dripping with sarcasm, he said, “I missed you, too.”

“At least you’ve had my father,” said Betty, matching sarcasm for sarcasm. And as with all great sarcasm, there was a very large kernel of raw emotion at its base. The simple fact was that it had never been lost on her just how much old Thunderbolt had doted on Glen Talbot. It was evident in Thunderbolt’s attentions and attitudes: Talbot was the son he’d never had.

And that was really the truth of it. Betty had never really fully been able to comprehend it, or even articulate it, for herself back when she had been closer to her father. Now, though, face-to-face with Talbot and possessing the analytical mind of a scientist and an adult, she knew what the real problem was. If Talbot was the son that Thunderbolt never had, what did that make her? Every time she looked at Talbot, she saw in him a symbol of everything she wasn’t to her father. No “Y” chromosome. No army career. Talbot was a reminder of what Thunderbolt Ross had genuinely wanted . . . and what he’d been stuck with in return.

None of which was the least bit fair to Glen Talbot. Except Betty didn’t give a damn about the fairness. All she cared about was Talbot exiting her life as quickly and unexpectedly as he’d reentered it.

Talbot, meanwhile, was feigning having been struck to the heart by her jibe. “Ouch. You don’t waste any time getting back to the old repartee, do you?”

It made her think of the old gag where one guy says. “Why do people take an instant dislike to me?” and another guy responds. “It saves time.” The thought made her smile slightly, and then she realized that Talbot might misinterpret her expression and conclude that he was amusing her. So she passed a hand over her mouth, covering the smile and frowning once more.

“You can take it,” said Betty.

“That I can,” Talbot assured her, not at all nonplussed. “But you’re too hard on the old guy. He’s a great man. It’s an honor to work with him.”

It made her want to salute. Or barf. She couldn’t decide which. Remembering her train of thought from earlier, she said, “I know. And you’re like a son to him. Which makes you,” she added with exaggeration, as if it were an afterthought, “something like my brother.”

To her surprise and discomfort, he took a step toward her. “Maybe we could make that kissing cousins,” said Talbot.

His proximity, his attitude and bearing, all shouted warnings in Betty’s head. Her immediate instinct was to back away, but she didn’t want to appear afraid of him, no matter how nervous he made her.
Keep it light, keep it light
, went through her head, and sounding as if it meant nothing to her, she said, “Sorry, we tried that and it might lead to inbreeding, and we don’t want any of that, do we?”

Talbot appeared to be trying to process what she’d just said in order to determine whether she was serious or not. She was beginning to think that he had comic instincts that made Bruce look like a stand-up comedian in comparison. Then he shrugged, as if dwelling on it was too much effort. “You’re the genetics expert,” he said, and then added with a barely restrained touch of impatience, “Look, I’m sorry I’m the only guy your father ever approved of. I can’t help that, can I? Why don’t we start this conversation over? Let’s focus on the present, not the past.”

He sounded sincere. Damn him. He always sounded sincere. That was how it started. Still, there was no reason to be paranoid, although the common notion was that being paranoid didn’t guarantee that someone
isn’t
out to get you.

“Sure,” said Betty, although she couldn’t help but feel that in trying to look relaxed when she was anything but, she just wound up appearing constipated.

“So how’s business?” asked Talbot.

She was about to try to make small talk with him, and then realized the whole game-playing thing just wasn’t working in the least. Maybe she really should endeavor to emulate Bruce. The man had a poker face that would put Mount Rushmore to shame. Giving up any pretenses, she said flatly, “Spill it. What do you want?”

He smiled ingratiatingly. That alone was enough to make her want to pop him one, but at least the games were over.

“Okay, I’ll cut to the chase,” he said, taking a step toward her as if they were about to have an intimate chat. “I’ve been hearing interesting things about what you guys are doing here. This could have some significant applications.” His voice suddenly turned wheedling. “How’d you like to come work for Atheon, get paid ten times as much as you now earn, and own a piece of the patents?”

If anyone else on the planet had put forward that offer, Betty might well have turned handsprings and started going over the car ads to find that perfect BMW that she knew was out there waiting for her somewhere. But because it was Glen, there was no hesitation in her response.

“Glen, two words: the door.”

And with supernatural timing, the door opened, and Bruce Krenzler was standing in the doorway.

The three of them stared at each other for one of those delightful moments that stretched into eternity. Bruce looked from one to the other, clearly wondering if he was going to be receiving an introduction to the newcomer anytime in the immediate future.

“Bruce Krenzler,” Betty said politely, “this is Glen Talbot. I’ve mentioned him in the past.”

“No, you haven’t.” Bruce reached over and shook Talbot’s hand. Obviously his grasp wasn’t firm enough for Talbot; he looked down at Bruce’s hand and, although he maintained a smile, his eyes looked like those of someone who had just gotten a palm full of dead mackerel.

“Glen,” Betty continued, “this is Bruce—”

“Krenzler,” said Talbot. “I’m a big fan, Dr. Krenzler. And please, call me Glen. And I should call you—”

“Dr. Krenzler,” Bruce replied. “Odd. I wasn’t aware that I was in a line of work that generally acquired fans.”

If Talbot was annoyed at the offhand rebuff, he didn’t show it. With no abatement of enthusiasm, he said, “You’ve certainly got one here. Your studies on cellular regeneration are groundbreaking.”

“Yes, they are.” He looked at Betty quizzically. “You’ve mentioned him?”

“We . . . used to see each other socially,” she said as judiciously as she could.

Bruce stared owlishly at Glen, apparently trying to place him, and then he abruptly said, “Oh! Wait. Would this be the ‘army clown’ you said you dated before you went to college?”

Betty covered her face with her right hand. And the cold look on Talbot’s face dropped another twenty degrees.

Meantime Bruce seemed oblivious to it all. “I’m sorry. It’s the lack of relevant costume that confused me.”

“Well, it’s Thursday, and I tend to send my clown costume out so I can have it back nice and clean for the weekend,” Glen said gamely. But then, surprisingly—at least to Betty—he smiled, apparently amused by the whole thing. “So my understanding is that you and Betty work together.”

“That’s right.”

“And does she speak for you, as well?”

Bruce stared at him in bemusement. “I like to think I’m capable of speaking for myself, thank you. What would this be about?”

“It’s probably my fault, Dr. Krenzler,” said Talbot, but even though he was nominally addressing Bruce, he was still looking at Betty. “I spoke with Dr. Ross about Atheon, the outfit that I work for. I don’t know that you’ve heard of us . . .”

“You’re being unduly modest . . . or inappropriately coy,” Bruce said evenly. “Anyone in just about any field of research has heard of Atheon. However, your exceedingly close ties with the military . . .”

“We don’t have close ties with the military, Dr. Krenzler. They have close ties with us—if you see the difference.”

“I’m sure it’s a great difference to you, Mr. Talbot,” said Bruce. “To me, it’s a mild semantic hairsplitting, but nothing beyond that.”

“That may be, Dr. Krenzler. But if you’d like to hear the point I was trying to make . . .”

“If making it will enable us to get back to work sooner rather than later, I’m all for it,” said Bruce.

“The point is I invited Dr. Ross to come work for Atheon . . .”

“Did you?” He looked with raised eyebrows at Betty.

“. . . and what I failed to make clear,” continued Talbot, “is that naturally we want you aboard as well. Our investigation indicates that you’re an excellent research team. We’d be extremely foolish to even contemplate splitting you up. The offer I made to you, Betty”—he nodded toward her—“applies equally to Dr. Krenzler. And since you’ve made it quite evident that you have other matters to attend to, I’ll leave you to attend to them, since I’m sure Betty can bring you up to speed, Dr. Krenzler.”

He put out a hand and Bruce shook it without much enthusiasm. Then he half-bowed to Betty, as if he were a German courtier, pulled out business cards with his name and the Atheon logo printed in bright red and gold, and with a flourish, presented one each to Betty and Bruce. “Betty, you doing anything tonight?”

“Sleeping.”

“Alone?”

Bruce saw Betty look at him, but maintained his utterly stoic demeanor. Her lips twitched in annoyance. “You never give up, do you, Glen?”

“What man in his right mind would?” he smiled. “Look, how about a quick dinner tonight, the three of us?”

“I’m not interested, nor is Betty,” Bruce said firmly, and instantly realized from the look in Betty’s eyes that he had made a mistake. Still, keeping an even keel, he said, “Of course, I could be wrong about that. I don’t maintain Dr. Ross’s social calendar.”

Without hesitation, Betty said to Talbot, “Is Atheon buying?”

“Of course.”

“Might be a nice change of pace from junk food grabbed out of a machine, or occasional scoops of ice cream. Paid for by a company that I deplore. It says ‘yes’ to me.”

Bruce knew that the words were deliberately intended to provoke him. He wasn’t sure why she was doing it, but he wasn’t about to be fazed by it. Instead, he simply shrugged and said, “I imagine it will be stimulating. Enjoy yourselves.”

Talbot looked rather surprised for a moment, but he didn’t let that distract him from the business at hand. “Well, Betty, how about I pick you up here, say, six?”

“All right,” she said. “No point in dismissing new concepts out of hand, I suppose. Right, Bruce?”

He nodded, his expression as stony as ever. And not for the first time, Bruce had the eerie feeling that someone or something else was rooting around just behind his eyeballs, growling in annoyance at the way things were progressing.

He found it oddly disconcerting, and, even more oddly, comforting.

hints of jealousy

The steady squeaking of the wheels on the janitor’s cart would have been enough to get on the nerves of just about any other person. But the janitor, unperturbed, pushed his cart steadily down the hallway of the Lawrence Berkeley lab facility, looking neither right nor left. People passed him by and didn’t even glance at him, which suited him just fine. He had nothing to say to them, and certainly they had nothing to say to him. As a janitor, he was one of the invisible people. At most someone might nod vaguely in his general direction and then instantly forget they’d seen him at all. That also suited him.

He kept his head down, focusing his attention on the floor and his cart. Every so often he’d raise his head enough to look around, his eyes burning with a frightening intensity. Had anyone looked him square in the eyes, they would have been taken aback, perhaps even frightened. Fortunately, no one did.

He brought his cart to a halt and removed a bucket of water and a mop. He used the same bucket to both soap the mop and also to clean it, so the water within had turned an unpleasant shade of gray. He wasn’t doing the floor any favors by running his mop over it, but that didn’t seem to matter to him.

More people were coming, and he adopted a carefully neutral, distant, and bored look as he began slathering the floor with the dirty water. Several staff members were heading in his direction, but when they saw what he was up to, they headed off down another hallway to keep clear of him.

That was exactly what he wanted. It facilitated his being able to hear the conversations he wanted to hear. Looking apathetic and nonchalant, he ran the mop across the floor as he sidled over to the lab that he knew Bruce Krenzler frequented.