Read Nightlord: Sunset for Free Online Page A

transfusing it.”
    Travis looked at me.  “You were drunk, you say?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Don’t remember a thing?”
    “’Fraid not.”
    He shook his head.  “Okay.”
    “No, go ahead.  You were thinking something.”
    “Just wondering, really…”
    “Yes?”
    “Did you nibble a little too hard, or is it just that time of the month?”
    I looked at his slightly lecherous grin, and I chuckled. “You’re one sick man, you know that?”
    “Mine’s psychological.  Let’s look yours over.  Or do you need to have lunch, now that you’re done with breakfast?”
    I regarded the tray and thought about it.  If we’d had this conversation at an all-you-can-eat buffet, they’d have thrown me out.
    “Give me another run through the line and I’ll be right with you.”
     
    I spent a good chunk of the morning sitting in a drafty gown while being poked, prodded, and stuck.  It occurred to me that if anybody got wind of this, I could wind up in a laboratory permanently… and that immortality could be a terrible curse.
    After the basic physical exam, Travis drew some blood.  We dropped it off with Herb on our way out of the university clinic.  The physical hadn’t found anything innately wrong, as such.  My body fat was way down and my weight was way up.  My reflexes were sharper, too; the old joke about tapping the knee and kicking the doctor nearly happened with Travis and I.  My range of motion and flexibility were about the same or a little better.  I was running a slight fever—about half a degree—and had borderline high blood pressure.  Everything else seemed to be normal.
    Once the exam was done, we headed over to the university gym and occupied a weight room.  During the post-lunch period of a Monday it was mostly deserted, so we went ahead and shut the door.  Travis—a big guy; he was born a brick and grew up to be a wall—was dressed in sweats, just to blend in.  I think he’d have been more comfortable in a white lab coat and clipboard.  We started more tests.
    Things we noted right off: I was a lot stronger.  Last time I checked my bench press, I topped a hundred pounds—but only just; I’m not a brawny guy and I have a desk job.  Now… my age is in the near neighborhood of thirty, I’m about ten pounds too thin to look average, and I pushed slightly over three hundred pounds up.
    The leg press was really scary.  I’ve always been a walker and a climber.  I used to go up mountain paths for the fun of it.  When the weather’s nice, I still ride a bicycle to work—it isn’t that far, and it’s not that often.  Sitting at a desk most of the day may have ruined my endurance, but I’ve got great legs.  When I push the leg press or do squats, I reasonably expect to be able to do it—keep stacking weights; I can take it.
    We ran out of weights.
    Doing the math, we totaled up over half a ton.  While I thought of it as heavy, I didn’t think we were pushing my limit.
    Which gave us more ideas.  We went into a handball court to get some headroom.  My standing high jump was considerably higher; I could have gotten a starter position with any basketball team.  My standing long jump was equally impressive—call it thirty feet or so.
    Travis just kept writing as we collected data.  He never even blinked.
    We tried a few endurance tests, too.   Let me say right off that I can walk forever, but I’m not a runner.  I hate running for running’s sake.  If I’m running, it’s to get from point A to point B that much faster.  Jogging always struck me as a sweaty waste of time.  But I made four laps of the quarter-mile track in slightly under four minutes and broke a sweat.
    Travis shook his head.
    “What?” I asked.
    “You’re disgusting.”
    “I’m—what?” I asked, taken aback.
    “You’ve a perfect specimen, as far as I can tell.  If you’re not at the limits of human capability, you’re close.  Aliens kidnapped you and replaced you with an android.