By Steven Gould
Davy has continually been by myself. He believes that he is the single individual on the planet who can teleport. yet what if he isn't?
A mysterious crew of individuals has taken Davy captive. they do not are looking to lease him, they usually haven't any wish of attractive to him to aid them. What they need is to possess him. they wish to exploit his skills for his or her personal reasons, even if Davy consents to it or no longer. and they set approximately brainwashing him and conditioning him. they've got even stumbled on the way to retain a teleport captive.
But there is something that they do not know. nobody understands it, now not even Davy. And it may possibly store his life....
"This is a enjoyable, fast moving novel that - like Gould's different books - additionally has a social moral sense that offers it extra intensity than the sort of tale may have in lesser palms. you don't want to have learn Jumper to benefit from the new novel, yet [it's] hugely recommended." - Charles de Lint, The journal of fable and technological know-how Fiction on Reflex
"Though Gould maintains to exuberantly press the bounds of medical credibility, his reward for putting traditional humans in notable occasions opposed to a backdrop of foreign issues makes this fast paced event sizzle." - Publishers Weekly, starred assessment on Reflex
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Extra resources for Reflex (Jumper Book 2)
Two of them were the men he’d unmasked the night before. Two thugs. And I call them Thug One and Thug Two. The third was the brunette waitress from Interrobang. The woman who’d murdered Brian Cox. They stopped beyond the reach of his chains, Thug One and Thug Two slightly behind the woman. At first, Davy thought they were still cautious, wary of him because of his action the evening before, but then he realized it was more of a power dynamic. The woman was in charge and they were afraid of her.
File://O:\Gould, Steven - Jumper Series - Books 1-3\Gould,_Steven_-_Jumper_2_-_Reflex_(... 1) Page 44 of 257 Somebody knew about that meeting. Or at least they knew enough to follow Brian. And it wasn’t Brian. Brian had cleared himself from suspicion very thoroughly. He glared at the book where it lay. He’d meant to hurl it out of reach but its rebound had carried it back to the foot of the bed. He put out his hand and jumped. The chains writhed like snakes, a crack-the-whip movement that moved to the wall and then back down toward him, smacking his wrists and ankles painfully, but he was standing at the end of the bed, his hand on the book.
They brought supper that night, as usual, two different men in surgical masks and scrubs. He wasn’t feeling very well. There was a persistent ache from the surgical scar on his upper chest and above, too, a tenderness that ran under the skin. Yet he had energy, too. So he took their masks off. One second he was reading in bed, the next he was standing at the extent of his chains, reaching out with both hands and closing on their masks just as the recoil from the chains reached his wrists. The chains, really, more than his own arms, snatched the paper masks off.