"John E. Stith - All for Naught" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stith John E)

clock began to play the only song it knew: reveille. Three
surfaces of the alarm clock showed cracks from having fallen to
the hard floor. Two segments of the display were out, so the
eight looked like a three. The alarm droned on, its tone more
like a kazoo than the bugle it had started life as.
Nick snorted and squeezed his already closed eyes even more
tightly closed. For an instant, he wished he was some kind of
mutant and could squeeze his ears closed.
He fumbled for the alarm. Almost immediately he knocked it
onto the floor. The alarm bounced, and two final notes trailed
off into silence, as if an arrow had taken the life of a very
conscientious bugler.
Nick made a feeble attempt to rise. He imagined this was
how it felt to be just coming out of open-heart surgery. He
touched his chest, to see if he could feel any stitches or
syntheskin. Nope.
After a deep breath, he hesitated, then grabbed for
something beside the bed. His fingers made contact on the second
try, and he pulled it up to his level.
A jumper cable.
Still mostly asleep, he bent forward and after a couple of
tries managed to fasten the black cable to a band affixed around
his ankle.
His fingers fumbled by the bed again and came up with a red
jumper cable, which he fastened to a band around his wrist. His
wrist flopped back onto the bed, and the cable swayed but kept
its grip. The other end of the cable led to a large, heavy
battery beside the bed. On the side of the battery was a
colorful label saying, "Morning Jump Start."
Nick yawned and sighed. He fumbled again, near the head of
the bed. His fingers found a large switch. He patted it the way
a small child would pat a stuffed bear that had strayed too far
from reach.
It was time. If he quit now, he'd be fast asleep in
seconds. He summoned strength, and he flicked the switch that
triggered a shrill electrical buzzing noise reminiscent of a
failing neon sign. Nick was instantly galvanized. His eyes
popped wide open, then promptly squeezed closed again. He
screamed and writhed on the bed, like a snake with its tail
caught in a mouse trap.
Barely able to muster a rational thought, he reached for the
switch to turn the current off. Where was it? He fumbled for
it. His fingers touched it! And he knocked it onto the floor.
God, no, he must be wrong.
He groaned agonizingly, like a patient in electroshock.
Still writhing under the pain and struggling madly, he reached
for the floor and groped for the switch. Sweat stood out on his
forehead. Where was that switch? This couldn't be happening.
He searched to the left and searched to the right, and finally
his fingers reached the switch housing. He maneuvered it so his