"Dafydd ab Hugh, Brad Linaweawer DOOM: Infernal Sky (english)" - читать интересную книгу автора

body mass. She offered me her hatchet. I declined.
I fired the M1 once, point-blank. The head came
apart like a ripe cantaloupe. The blood that poured
out was a brand-new color on me.
"The gun jammed," she insisted.
"I know."
"I didn't do anything wrong with it!"
"I'm not saying you did. Knocking the gun around
probably unjammed it."
"Well, I just want you to know it wasn't my fault
that I couldn't fire it."
There were times when Jill went out of her way to
remind me she was a teenager. I really wasn't in the
mood for her defensiveness just then. God knew how
many more zombies were roaming the installation.
We had to get back to Arlene. And I was worried
about Albert. We'd become like a family.
At some moment in my military career I'd become
used to the stench of death. I could probably thank
the Scythe of Glory and their Shining Path buddies
for that. But I would never get used to the sour-lemon
zombie odor; and the strongest whiff of it I'd had in a
very long time scorched my nostrils as the head of the
dead zombie leaked at my feet.
When I threw up, I knew the vacation was over.
I am Ken. I once was part of a family. They're all
dead now. I once took long walks every day and rode a
bicycle. I swam. I ate food off plates and drank wine. I
sang. I made love.
Now I am a cybermummy. A Ken doll. They have
taken off the bandages and removed some of the
objects from my flesh, but I feel that the aliens have
made me less than human. Dr. Ackerman thought the
opposite; but I don't feel more than human. Dr.
Williams, the director, says they will bring me back to
normal, but I don't believe him. The director puts
nothing above the importance of winning the war. I
am more useful to him now where I am, remaining
what I am. The medical team tries to keep its findings
from me, but I can tap into all their computer
systems.
They say they can overcome my physical weakness
quite easily. They can stop feeding me intravenously
and slowly acclimate my system to regular food again.
Simple brain surgery would restore full mobility, but
there is a risk—not to me but to their project. The
alien biotech in my head could be altered or lost in the
course of getting me back to normal. So they take
their time.
Meanwhile, I am plugged into the computers and