It weren’t dark—if anything it was too damned bright, and when I tried to open my eyes I slammed ’em shut again right quick, feeling as if somebody had driven an ice pick into my brain. I hadn’t got more than a glimpse, but I had the idea that I was in a bright, small room, maybe lit with electric arcs. I couldn’t think of anything else that would make such a dazzling light, but I also couldn’t think why anybody’d light an inside room with an arc. It was like killing ants with molten lead: significant overkill. I moaned and tried to pull my hands down, to see if I could get some blood into them. Something rattled, and I realized they was chained up over my head. I probably should of faked I was still out, I realized. But I had to vomit again, and I didn’t want to drown in it. It took the sort of effort I’d usually reserve for mountain climbing—if I was a mountain climber, I mean—but I managed to get my shoulder down and my knees up, and toss my chuck over the edge of the narrow metal table I was laying on without either falling off it or puking on myself any more than absolutely necessary.
