"James Tiptree Jr. - Yanqui Doodle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tiptree James Jr)

"If you'd give me my ND I could sleep. It's not yet tomorrow!" His voice was high with anguish. She
didn't reply, just clicked the flash off and went away.

He saw her checking the inhabitants of the other beds on her way out. Two men came awake at this,
screamed briefly and thrashed about. Doesn't she know being wakened like that could be bad news in
the combat zone, doesn't she know anything!

"Take it easy, soldier," he heard her say. Then she was gone.

He lay back and felt the supposedly non-existent bug scratching like mad. One bastard's legs were in
the tender place back of his knee. Goddamn. He made a determined effort to break the cast on the
bedrails, got nowhere. Then he recalled something.

In a story he'd read, "insects" like this were a feature of going off drugs cold turkey. Victims were
driven crazy, tore themselves bloody.

The dopers' DTs. Was this what detoxification was going to be like? Oh, Christ, oh Christ.

He tried to relax, but there was no more possibility of sleep. And his ulcer was really hurting now,
gnawing deep. Going without antacids could be dangerous, his old doc had said. Your stomach could
perforate. He almost hoped his would, that would be a lesson for Miss Plastic. Medications!тАж God, he
could see the inside of a US drugstore, all those good things laid out ready to your hand. Mylanta,
Maalox, Alternagel, TumsтАФin his civilian days he'd been a good customer for all that. But the ND-tabs
had stopped the pain. He'd have to get hold of more the minute he was turned loose. But what if they
only issued them in the combat zone? Well, he'd get back there by hook or crook. Back to combat?
Why not? If he was comfortable and could sleep there. How long would this damn detox take? Two,
three weeks had they said? Could he endure it?

He rolled, rolled, tossed, trying to find a position where the pain was better and the bugs were
quieterтАж Some time toward morning he must have lost consciousness.

Detox started officially right after breakfast, when two strange orderlies descended on his bed,
checked the rails, and starting rolling him toward one of the closed-off corridors. He'd been enjoying a
nap at last, almost didn't wake up in time to size up his surroundings. As they relocked the grille he sat up
and saw that he was in a wing the Army must have added onтАФplain plywood walls, low ceilings, all the
way down, with doors opening off each side, to a blank wall at the far end. First came a second grille,
strong steelwork, and polished in the middle as though hundreds of hands had gripped it. As they went
through, he saw that the first door bore a hand-lettered sign: Quiet Room. The door had a small
wire-reinforced glass window in it. And there was sound coming from itтАФa faint, pallid mewling or
keening, like an animal far away. Then they were passing closed, featureless doors, 205, 207. At 209 the
orderlies stopped, opened up and pushed him in.

Room 209 was about four meters square, with a screened, barred, frosted window. There was a bed
already in it. The orderlies wrestled it around to take out.

Don said, "They told me I was going to walk today. They're supposed to take the cast off. Where's
the doctor?"

"Don't know anything about that," one of them grunted, opening the door.