"Stephen Kenson - Technobabel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenson Stephen)

I know I've got to find some way to get out of here. Buried in the hot
darkness and the smell of decay and disinfectant, I take stock of the
situation. I cannot make my muscles work the way they should, but I can still
feel my hands and my feet, the sensation of the vinyl body-bag against my
skin, the way I rest on top of the bodies supporting me, the motion of the van
as it moves. My mind is a jumble of thoughts and images. I was expecting to
see someone else. Someone else was to come and find me, not these
body-snatchers looking for corpses.
Why can't I move? I try to figure out what could have happened to cause this.
I can still feel everything. Neither my limbs nor my skin are numb. I dismiss
the possibility of injury causing my paralysis. The idea makes me ill, and, if
it's true, there's not much hope of getting out of here. I push the thoughts
aside. No point in dwelling on what I can't change.
Drugs? I don't think so. I don't feel sedated or drugged. My mind is sharp and
awake. It might be a drug I don't know, but, again, there isn't much I can do
if that's the case. Best to consider the other possibilities.
Magic? It's possible. There are spells to paralyze and control people. I know
something about the theory behind them. Magicians have the ability to do such
things, but I can't recall ever having been under a spell. Thinking about
magic makes me feel strange. There's something I don't remember about it.
Something important, but it doesn't help me with my present problem.

There's the possibility of the BTLs Riley talked about. Better Than Life
chips-beetles-were things plenty of people plugged into their brains to
experience feelings and sensations more pleasurable and intense than anything
real life had to offer, supposedly. I dimly recall a feeling like that,
feelings deeper and broader than anything I thought a human body and mind
could contain. A sense of being so large, so vast, but it slips away from me
even as I try to grab hold of it. Was I using chips in the alley? Is my
current condition the result of neural damage to my motor centers? I can't
remember.
The way I'm lying on top of the stack of bodies is giving me a painful pull at
the base of my neck. I long to raise my head or to roll over to a more
comfortable position. I focus on the pain, let it fill my thoughts. I pour all
of my effort into making my body roll over to the side. Just a little
contraction of the muscles. Just a slight change in position. That's it.
Should be easy. Nothing to it.
I start to sweat inside the confinement of the body bag, and I can feel the
air getting hot and stale. The sound of my own breathing is loud in the
confinement, but I focus on it to remind me I'm still alive and I try to
quicken its pace. I need more air, more oxygen to my muscles and my brain to
try and speed their recovery. If they can recover, that is ... No, I can't let
myself think that way. I have to be able to move or there's no chance at all.
The meat-wagon takes a corner hard, and I throw all of my strength into
rolling with the movement. There! I manage to roll onto my back on top of the
other bodies, and I think I can feel someone's arm under my lower back, as if
it were holding me in an embrace. It isn't much, but I moved.
I start concentrating on my hands and my feet. They are tingling a bit and,
with some effort, I can almost move them. The paralysis gripping my body is
starting to fade, I can feel it. I concentrate on trying to move, trying to