"Bill the Galactic Hero" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asprin Robert)

heel of Bill's new boot. The powerful neural current surged through the
contacts and Bill's hand twitched and jumped, and when the momentary fog had
lifted from his eyes he saw that he had signed his name.

"But...'

"Welcome to the Space Troopers;" the sergeant boomed, smacking him on the
back (trapezius like rock) and relieving him of the stylo. "FALL IN!" he called
in a larger voice, and the recruits stumbled from the tavern.

"What have they done to my sonl" Bill's mother screeched, coming into the
market square, clutching at her bosom with one hand and towing his baby brother
Charlie with the other. Charlie began to cry and wet his pants.

"Your son is now a trooper for the greater glory of the Emperor," the
sergeant said, pushing his slack-jawed and round-shouldered recruit squad into
line.

"No! it can't be . . ." Bill's mother sobbed, tearing at her graying hair.
"I'm a poor widow, he's my sole support . . . you cannot . . . I"

"Mother. . ." Bill said, but the sergeant shoved him back into the ranks.'

"Be brave, madam," he said. "There can be no greater glory for a mother."
He dropped a large and newly minted coin into her hand. "Here is the enlistment

bonus, the Emperor's shilling. I know he wants you to have it. ATTENTION!"

With a clash of heels the graceless recruits braced their shoulders and
lifted their chins. Much to his surprise, so did Bill.

"RIGHT TURN!"

In a single, graceful motion they turned, as the command robot relayed the
order to the hypno-coil in every boot. "FORWARD MARCH!" And they did, in
perfect rhythm, so well under control that, try as hard as he could, Bill could
neither turn his head nor wave a last good-by to his mother. She vanished
behind him, and one last, anguished wail cut through the thud of marching feet.

"Step up the count to 130," the sergeant ordered, glancing at the watch set
under the nail of his little finger. "Just ten miles to the station, and we'll
be in camp tonight, my lads."

The command robot moved its metronome up one notch and the tramping boots
conformed to the smarter pace and the men.. began to sweat. By the time they
had reached the copter station it was nearly dark, their red paper uniforms
hung in shreds, the gilt had been rubbed from their pot-metal buttons, and
the surface charge that repelled the dust from their thin plastic boots had
leaked away. They looked as ragged, weary, dusty, and miserable as they felt.

II