"Harrison, Harry - Bill On The Planet Of Robot Slaves - uc" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

C H A P T E R 5

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The rising sun washed its warm rays over Bill's sleeping, bristly face. He grunted and opened one eye. Instantly regretted it and slammed it shut with a hideous grating sound as the light punched a hot icepick into his drink-sodden brain. Taking more care this time he rolled over away from the sun, opened his eyes the tiniest slit, then peeked through his fingers. The huddled forms of his shipmates, wrapped like him in GI blankets from the torched tug, still lay in silent sleep. All except for Admiral Praktis who, driven by duty or insomnia, or a full bladder, stood upon the highest dune staring into the distance. Bill smacked his lips and tried to spit out some of the fur that covered his tongue, did not succeed, climbed to his feet and, ever a sucker for curiosity, climbed the dune himself.
"Good morning, sir," he ingratiated.
"Shut up. I can't stand conversation this early in the day. Did you see the lights?"
"Wurgle?" Bill said, gears not meshed, brain still alcohol and sleep sodden.
"That's about what I thought you would say. Listen numb-nuts, if you had stayed alert rather than wallowing in an alcoholic stupor, you would have seen what I saw. On the horizon there, very distant,
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glowing lights. And no, before you say it, it was not the stars."
Bill pouted because that was what he was going to suggest.
"Definitely lights, waxing and waning and changing color. Get Cy up here. Now."
The technician must have been popping something because he lay unconscious, eyes open but rolled back so that only the whites, or rather the yellows, showed. Bill shook him, shouted in his ear, and even tried a few good kicks in the ribs with no results.
"Really wonderful," Praktis snarled when he got the report. "Is this a crew or an addicts' ward? I'll go give him a shot that will blast him out of it. Meanwhile you stay guard here over this line in the sand so no one walks on it. And don't bulge your eyes at me like that-I haven't gone around the twist. That line points at the lights I saw."
Bill sat and stared at the fine and wished he had a drink and fell asleep again-but jerked awake when he heard the ghastly moans. Cy was crawling up the dune on all fours, groaning as he came. His skin was ghastly white and he was vibrating like an electric dildo. Praktis climbed up behind him, his expression one of sadistic pleasure.
"The shot brought him around but, oh boy, has it got some really wicked side affects. That's the direction, juicehead, that line scratched in the sand. Get a fix on it."
Cy dug out the compass, but his hand was shaking too much to read it. In the end he had to lay it fiat on the sand. Then he had to hold his head still with both hands to take the sight. After a certain amount of blinking, eyepopping and twitching he spoke in a hollow voice.
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"Eighteen degrees east of the magnetic pole. Permission requested to go away and die, sir."
"Permission denied. The shot will wear off soon..."
A shrill scream cut through his words, followed by the roar and splat of blaster fire.
"We're being attacked!" Praktis screeched. "I'm unarmed! Don't fire! I am a doctor, a noncombatant, my rank only an honorable one!"
Bill, his brain cells still so gummed by sleep and ethyl alcohol, drew his blaster and ran down the dune towards the firing instead of away from it which, normally, he would have done. He picked up speed, could not stop, saw Meta before him, standing and firing, could not turn and ran into her at full gallop.
They collapsed into an inferno of arms and legs. She recovered first and punched him in the eye with a hard fist.
"That hurt," he whimpered, holding his hand over it. "I'm going to have a shiner."
"Move your hand and I'll give you another one to match. Why did you knock me down like that?"
"What was all the shooting about?"
"Rats!" She grabbed up her blaster and spun about. "All gone now. Except the ones I blasted into atoms. They were getting at our food. At least we know what lives on this planet. Great big nasty gray rats."
"No they don't," Praktis said, having recovered from his fit of cowardice and rejoined the party. He kicked a piece of exploded rat with his toe. "Rattus Nowegicus. Mankind's companion to the stars. We must have brought them with us."
"Sure did," Bill agreed. "They bailed out of the spacer even before you did."
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"Interesting," Praktis mused, rubbing his jaw, nodding, squinting, doing all the things that indicate musing. "With a whole planet to nosh in-I ask you -why do they come creeping back here to eat our food?"
"They don't like the native chow," Bill suggested.
"Brilliant but incorrect. It is not that they don't like it-there is none of it. This planet is barren of life as any fool can plainly see."
"Not completely, sir," any fool said. Recruit Wurber appeared from out of the desert, his adam's apple bobbing up and down like a yo-yo. He held out a flower. "As soon as I heard the shooting I ran away. Over thataway found the flowers and..."
"Let me have that. Ouch!"
. . . and I cut my hand when I picked it, just like you did just then, Admiral, when you grabbed it."
Praktis held the flower so close that his eyes crossed as he examined it. "Stem, no leaves, red petals, no stamen or pistil. But made of metal. This is made of metal, you idiot. It wasn't growing. IL was planted there in the sand by a person or persons unknown."
"Yes, Admiral. Shall I show the admiral where the rest of the flowers are growing?"
He led the way and the others followed. Except for Captain Bly who was still zonked unconscious. Up dune and down dune to a dark patch in the sand where a stand of flowers grew. Praktis snapped one of them with his fingernail and it pinged.
"Metal. All of them, metal." He poked a finger into the damp sand, then sniffed it. "And this is not water-smells like oil." No scientific explanation for the phenomena was forthcoming since he was just as
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baffled as the others, although he was too pompous to admit it. "The explanation of the phenomena is obvious and a detailed description will be forthcoming as soon as I have completed my investigation. I'll need more specimens. Anyone have a wirecutter?"
Cy did and he snipped off samples as instructed. Meta quickly had enough of this metallurgical horticulture and went back to their camp. And resumed shouting and shooting. The others joined her and the surviving rats fled into the desert. Praktis scowled at the torn open boxes of supplies.
"You, Third Lieutenant, get to work. I want the food repacked and rat-proofed at once. Issue orders. But not you, Cy. I want your help. Over this way."
Bill seized up a torn plastic container of compressed nutrient bars. Known jocularly to the troops as Iron Rations. Even the rats hadn't been able to dent them; broken rat teeth were stuck in the wrapper. After boiling for twentyfour hours they could be broken with a hammer. Bill searched for something edible and a little more tender. He found some tubes of emergency space rations labeled Yumee-Gunge. The others were watching him intently so he passed the tubes around and they all squeezed and sucked and made retching noises. The gunge was loathsome but promised to sustain life. Although the quality of life that it sustained was open to question. After this repulsive repast they worked together in harmony since the pitiful pile of supplies was all that stood between them and starvation. Or thirsting to death, which is faster.
They had just finished when Captain Bly groaned and rolled over, sat up and made drysmacking noises with his mouth. Bill passed him a tube of Yumee-Gunge and he screamed hoarsely