time.
Alex was nearing a phone booth. Hammerson paused for a second, but his hand moved without him even thinking about it. He slid an onscreen bombsite over the phone box and pressed another key – the phone’s number appeared over the box, with two highlighted options: Call or Cancel . He pressed down, and the number flashed green as the call was initiated.
The tall bearded man slowed as the phone rang, and stared at it. Hammerson could have sworn the face behind the beard twisted into a smile.
‘Pick it up,’ Hammerson said.
Alex started walking again, past the phone, then stopped and looked up … almost directly into the lens of a satellite hovering more than 20,000 miles overhead.
Hammerson waited, looking back into the young man’s face. Time seemed to stretch as he remembered the remarkable warrior Captain Alex Hunter had become. Severely wounded in a black ops mission in Chechnya, Alex was expected to live out his existence in some sterile hospital wing, with just the beep and hiss of artificial respirators for company. Hammerson had intervened and personally authorized administration of the experimental Arcadian treatment – and it had worked, sort of. How, was a mystery – a fluke of circumstances; a thousand variables colliding at just the right time to see the man revived. But the Alex Hunter that woke was different – vastly superior in strength and stamina, with senses more acute than any other human being. As unique an individual as he was an enigma to both the US military and the USSTRATCOM Science Division’s Alpha Soldier Research Unit.
Hammerson had told his young soldier that the startling and unnatural changes he was experiencing were ‘gifts’ – but some gifts came with a price. For all the advantageous changes to his physicality, Alex had also been afflicted by psychological tempests – a beast within him. Conditioning had taught him to manage his furies, and sometimes control them, but they were never fully suppressed. Instead, they waited inside him, growing stronger each time, until they burst forth in a rampage of obliteration. Alex Hunter was like a high-powered weapon: a military game-changer, but one that if not handled correctly could destroy those trying to wield it.
Alex strode into the phone booth and lifted the handset. ‘Jack.’
The single word made Colonel Jack Hammerson sit forward in his chair, his mouth momentarily dry. ‘Hello, son,’ he managed, then waited for Alex to speak again.
‘I know you’ve been following me.’ Alex’s voice had an edge to it.
Hammerson shook his head even though he knew Alex couldn’t see it. ‘Not out of malice or intent, just . . . looking out for you.’
‘I don’t need a minder; I don’t need anyone. I’m not safe to be around, remember?’
Hammerson smiled. ‘We’re HAWCs, we’re not supposed to be safe to be around.’ He paused, steeling himself. ‘We want you to come back in.’
The silence that followed felt like it had physical weight. Hammerson knew what he was saying wasn’t wholly true – he needed his soldier to come in from the cold, but he wasn’t ready to bring him back onto the base. Quite simply, Alex Hunter, the Arcadian, was supposed to be dead. Incinerated in a chemical furnace in the bowels of the military’s disposal centers; turned to ash to destroy the lethal bacteria that was overrunning his system. And also to throw off some pretty pissed doctors in the medical division who wanted him back to work out why he’d survived the Arcadian treatment when all other subjects had turned into self-destructive psychopaths. Captain Robert Graham had found out about Alex’s survival, which was another reason to leave him out in the wilderness; but the game had changed. Graham had gone missing, which gave Hammerson an opportunity.
‘I’m tired,’ Alex said, his tone flat and emotionless.
‘You? Hard to believe.’ Hammerson concentrated on the young man’s movements, his body language and
Alex was nearing a phone booth. Hammerson paused for a second, but his hand moved without him even thinking about it. He slid an onscreen bombsite over the phone box and pressed another key – the phone’s number appeared over the box, with two highlighted options: Call or Cancel . He pressed down, and the number flashed green as the call was initiated.
The tall bearded man slowed as the phone rang, and stared at it. Hammerson could have sworn the face behind the beard twisted into a smile.
‘Pick it up,’ Hammerson said.
Alex started walking again, past the phone, then stopped and looked up … almost directly into the lens of a satellite hovering more than 20,000 miles overhead.
Hammerson waited, looking back into the young man’s face. Time seemed to stretch as he remembered the remarkable warrior Captain Alex Hunter had become. Severely wounded in a black ops mission in Chechnya, Alex was expected to live out his existence in some sterile hospital wing, with just the beep and hiss of artificial respirators for company. Hammerson had intervened and personally authorized administration of the experimental Arcadian treatment – and it had worked, sort of. How, was a mystery – a fluke of circumstances; a thousand variables colliding at just the right time to see the man revived. But the Alex Hunter that woke was different – vastly superior in strength and stamina, with senses more acute than any other human being. As unique an individual as he was an enigma to both the US military and the USSTRATCOM Science Division’s Alpha Soldier Research Unit.
Hammerson had told his young soldier that the startling and unnatural changes he was experiencing were ‘gifts’ – but some gifts came with a price. For all the advantageous changes to his physicality, Alex had also been afflicted by psychological tempests – a beast within him. Conditioning had taught him to manage his furies, and sometimes control them, but they were never fully suppressed. Instead, they waited inside him, growing stronger each time, until they burst forth in a rampage of obliteration. Alex Hunter was like a high-powered weapon: a military game-changer, but one that if not handled correctly could destroy those trying to wield it.
Alex strode into the phone booth and lifted the handset. ‘Jack.’
The single word made Colonel Jack Hammerson sit forward in his chair, his mouth momentarily dry. ‘Hello, son,’ he managed, then waited for Alex to speak again.
‘I know you’ve been following me.’ Alex’s voice had an edge to it.
Hammerson shook his head even though he knew Alex couldn’t see it. ‘Not out of malice or intent, just . . . looking out for you.’
‘I don’t need a minder; I don’t need anyone. I’m not safe to be around, remember?’
Hammerson smiled. ‘We’re HAWCs, we’re not supposed to be safe to be around.’ He paused, steeling himself. ‘We want you to come back in.’
The silence that followed felt like it had physical weight. Hammerson knew what he was saying wasn’t wholly true – he needed his soldier to come in from the cold, but he wasn’t ready to bring him back onto the base. Quite simply, Alex Hunter, the Arcadian, was supposed to be dead. Incinerated in a chemical furnace in the bowels of the military’s disposal centers; turned to ash to destroy the lethal bacteria that was overrunning his system. And also to throw off some pretty pissed doctors in the medical division who wanted him back to work out why he’d survived the Arcadian treatment when all other subjects had turned into self-destructive psychopaths. Captain Robert Graham had found out about Alex’s survival, which was another reason to leave him out in the wilderness; but the game had changed. Graham had gone missing, which gave Hammerson an opportunity.
‘I’m tired,’ Alex said, his tone flat and emotionless.
‘You? Hard to believe.’ Hammerson concentrated on the young man’s movements, his body language and
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