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“It won’t matter,” Lachlan said confidently, observing Jason’s reluctance. “You won’t break a sweat.”

Getting down on one knee, Jason offered his hand. He rested his elbow on the table across from Bellum.

The FBI Agent grinned. He’d clearly done this before. From the way he positioned his hand, arching his wrist over Jason’s, it was obvious he knew what he was doing. He was relishing this.

Jason felt his hand swallowed up by Bellum’s paw.

“OK,” Lachlan said. “Ready?”

Jason felt the big man beginning to apply pressure, trying to force Jason’s hand backwards onto the table.

“Go!” Lachlan cried.

Bellum surged, applying a massive wave of strength that took Jason by surprise, bending his hand back to within an inch or so of the stained wooden veneer.

Bellum leaned over the coffee table. The veins in his neck bulged and his face started turning red. Jason’s forearm was trembling under the strain, but he found he could hold onto those last few inches. The bigger man shifted his weight, trying to get more leverage, but to Jason’s surprise, the added pressure didn’t bother him. He had plenty of strength in reserve. It was quite fascinating to observe, he thought, mentally detaching himself from the action. Across from him was this huge man on the verge of pinning his arm to the table, but only if Jason let him. Here was an FBI agent struggling with someone half his size.

Jason looked over at Lachlan and Stegmeyer. Lachlan looked relaxed, as though he had no doubts about what would happen next, whereas Stegmeyer looked nervous. She didn’t want Jason to lose, much to his surprise. The contrast in their visages was stark. Stegmeyer never expected him to win.

With a little upward pressure, Jason straightened his arm, easily bringing Bellum back to their starting point.

Bellum’s face flushed. Veins appeared on his forehead. His right arm trembled under the strain.

“Finish him,” Lachlan said. Stegmeyer may have doubted Jason, but Lachlan didn’t. Jason took pride in the confidence of his mentor.

In one fluid motion, Jason rolled Bellum’s arm backwards, watching the big man fight with all his might not to lose. Rather than slamming Bellum’s hand into the table, Jason touched it gently against the veneer, and Bellum released his grip, gasping for breath.

“Damn!” Bellum cried, shaking his fingers. Jason hadn’t even thought about how hard he’d been holding Bellum’s hand, but Bellum flexed his fingers, apparently trying to get some feeling back into them.

“Did you catch that?” Stegmeyer said to her cameraman.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Amazing,” the Washington Post reporter said. “So, he’s an alien?”

“No,” Lachlan said swiftly, cutting her off. From the tone of his voice, it was clear the professor was defending Jason, and Jason appreciated that. With everything that had happened, Jason felt almost a sense of vertigo. He wasn’t physically dizzy, but mentally he was struggling to come to terms with the pace of events unfolding around him. To have Lachlan staunchly defending him was reassuring.

“He’s unique,” Lachlan added.

“Look at him,” Bellum protested, getting up and sitting in his seat. “There’s no way he’s human.”

“I’ve heard the rumors,” Stegmeyer said. “Either he’s an alien or he’s some alien hybrid experiment.”

Lachlan was visibly annoyed with both Stegmeyer and Bellum. Jason could see him going red in the face, but somehow he retained his composure and spoke with deliberation.

“You have no idea what we’re dealing with here. Wild and fanciful guesses will not help.”

“So what is he?” Stegmeyer asked. She was abrupt, and Jason got the feeling he was seeing the real April Stegmeyer, the cold, calculating reporter behind the warm smile.

“Human,” Lachlan said, with a note of triumph as though that one word required no more explanation.

“Nah,” Bellum replied. “Not with strength like that!”

“You don’t understand,” Lachlan continued. “You’ve heard the old mantra so many times you’ve come to believe it, that all men are created equal. They’re not. No two men are physically alike. This is something Charles Darwin understood, but lately we seem to have forgotten it.

“Not only is your fingerprint unique among over seven billion of us walking around on this planet, so too is your nervous system, the attenuation of your muscle shape, size and tendons, your skeletal structure, and your cardiovascular and lymphatic system. They’re similar and yet distinctly different.”

“But he’s too different,” Stegmeyer stated bluntly.

“Is he?” Lachlan asked. “Usain Bolt can run a hundred meters in less than ten seconds. Does that make him an alien? Or does it make him exceptional in both his physical capabilities and discipline?”

Jason was fascinated by the professor’s perspective, and somewhat relieved to know he was counted in the ranks of humanity.

“But … But there’s no discipline here,” Bellum countered, gesturing with his hands toward Jason.