"Steven Gould - Jumper 02 - Reflex" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gould Stephen Jay)

The door opposite the foot of his bed opened. It was brighter lit in the hall, a painful glimpse of a
wall painted white on its upper half, wood-paneled below, and then it was occulted. When he opened
his eyes again, the door was shut again and there was someone standing in the room with him.

He blinked again, trying to get the afterimage of the doorway out of his eyes. He was having
trouble focusing. "Drink up for Mummy," said the distorted voice.

The figure guided a straw to his lips.

It was ice water and Davy suddenly realized that he was parched, like a man lost in the desert.
He sucked greedily and then broke into a spasm of coughing as some of it went down his windpipe.

The figure backed away and Davy's eyes finally focused. ItтАФheтАФwas a large man wearing blue
scrubs complete with a cap, paper surgical mask, and latex gloves. His eyes looked concerned as he
watched Davy cough.

Davy coughed a little longer than actually necessary, using the time to look for identifying marks.
The man had bushy brown eyebrows. There was a faint reflection from his eye, the edge of a contact,
and his ears were flat to his skull with large attached lobes.

Davy stopped coughing and licked his lips. Another shock. His face, normally clean shaven, had
a quarter inch of beard. How long?

"More, please." His voice was a bare husk but at least this time the words were discernable.

The man cleared his throat, as if to say something, but stopped and instead held up his hand,
palm out, as if to say, "Slow." Then he offered the straw again.

Davy drank small sips this time and managed not to aspirate any more water. He was oddly
heartened by the fact they were taking such care to avoid recognition. It implied they weren't going to
kill him outright. It also implied they were scared of him.

When he finished, the man went through an open door to the side. Davy heard running water
briefly, then the man was back, placing the Styrofoam cup on a side table.

Davy remembered Cox's blood splashing across his face. They're right to be scared.

He considered jumping away, immediately, even though they were watching, but he'd prefer to
do it silently.

Who knew about the meeting? I'm never working for the NSA again.

Then a horrible thought occurred to him. "Why can't I sit up?" His voice sounded better this
time, still an octave lower than usual, but less raspy.

The man in the surgical mask looked over at the mirror.

The distorted voice came over the speaker.

"Do. Show him."