"Allen Steele - A King of Infinite Space" - читать интересную книгу автора (Steele Allen)

I still don't understand what is being asked of me, and it disturbs me that I can't see the source of the
voice. I look around and see all those still forms lying in bed around me, so silent and

(dead)

sleeping in this white room illuminated by soft light that comes from everywhere but nowhere, and I'm
the only one who's moving around.

"Go back to bed now!"

I'm afraid now. I whimper, and as I do so, something hot and fluid rushes through my lower body. I look
down and see a thin stream of urine splattering on the floor in front of me. My fear is replaced by vague
sensations of relief and satisfaction, and I stare in curiosity at the urine as it forms a thin yellow puddle
on the floor that touches my toes and makes me giggle at its warm touch.

"Blink your eyes three times," the voice says, a little more kindly now; when I do, the little stick man
reappears, standing at the foot of his bed just as I'm now in front of mine. He turns and reverses his
process of getting out of bed, and when he's back where he had started the image vanishes. "This is how
you get back in bed," the voice says. "Do you think you can do that?"



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 Steele, Allen - [Near-Space 05] - A King of Infinite Space

I nod, and then copy the stick man, and when my head touches the soft pillows again I feel as if I've
accomplished something really spectacular.

"Very good" the voice says. "You're doing very well. Now, I want you to tell me a couple of things."

This is new. What's there to tell? "I want you to count to ten, aloud," it asks.

This is extremely complicated. I whimper again, but at least my bladder's empty and I'm unable to wet
the safest place I know.

"Blink your eyes again," the voice says.

I do so, and now the stick man lying in bed opens his mouth and speaks in a flat male voice: "One . . .
two . . . three . . . four . . . five ... six ... seven ... eight... nine ... ten."

The image vanishes. "Can you do that?" the voice asks.

I open my mouth and move my lips. Nothing emerges. I try again, and this time only exhale. Tears sting
the corners of my eyes; deep down inside, I know what I want to say, but I can't articulate it.

"Blink three times." I do so, and an abstract figure appears in front of me: a vertical spike, as large as a
tombstone. "This is One," the voice said. "Say it... one."

Something deep in my throat stirs to life. "Wa ... wa ... won."