Tangle Hold

Jadiver objected to being the greatest influence for good on Venus ... because what was good for Venus was bad for Jadiver!
Somebody was wrapping him in a sheet of ice and spice. Somebody was pulling it tight so that his toes ached and his fingers tingled. He still had fingers, and eyes too. He opened his eyes and they turned in opposite directions and couldn't focus on what they saw. He made an effort, but couldn't keep it up and had to let his eyes flutter shut again.
Rest. You're all right. That's where he got the idea of ice and spice—from that voice.
Mmmm, said Jadiver. He tried to raise his hand, but it wouldn't move. It was good advice—to rest; he couldn't do otherwise. What happened? he whispered.
You had an accident. Remember?
He didn't. It was his mind playing tricks, of course. It couldn't have been pleasant if his memory didn't have access to it.
Mmmm, he evaded.
Go to sleep. We'll talk later.
He thought he felt something shoved deep in his flesh, but he may have been wrong. In any event, the light that filtered through his closed eyelids faded away and the external world, of which there wasn't much in the first place, vanished completely.
Later, he awakened. How much later, he didn't know, but it may have been days. The oppressive languor had left him and he felt capable of movement. To prove it to himself, he turned his head. He was alone, and he thought he recognized where he was. He didn't like it.
There was an odor in the room, but this time it was the kind that lingers in all hospitals. He tried to sit up, but that was more than he could manage. He lay there a long time, looking through the heavily reinforced window; then someone came in.
You'll live, said the voice behind him—the same voice.