"Harrison, Harry - Bill, the Galactic Hero 5 - on the Planet of Zombie Vampires" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

Bill pulled his foot out of the hole. The first thing he noticed was that he was missing a foot entirely.
"You moron medico!" screamed Bill, waving his stump in the air. "My foot's gone!"
"That's what you wanted, isn't it?"
"But I wanted a replacement, too. What I got now is nothing," he sobbed.
"What you've got is a military grade Mark-1 regenerative foot-bud, Trooper. Take a close look."
Sure enough, there at the end of Bill's stump was a tiny pink bud about the size and shape of a baked bean.
"I did a good job, didn't I - why don't you admit that?" The doctor stood up, bloated with pride, red nose wavering in the air like a giant tomato. "Can I keep your old foot? It'll make a nice paperweight."
Bill was staring at the tiny bud. It still looked like a baked bean.
"Of course, you'll have to stay off that bud until the foot grows out," said Hackenslash, handing him a pair of crutches. "I'm sorry I couldn't make you battle-ready in a jiffy. You'll just have to wait until it grows."
"How long will that take?" smirked Bill gleefully, taking the crutches, which were dented and about twelve sizes too short.
"Quite a long time, I'm afraid. You can't rush mother nature."
"That's really too bad," Bill smarmed insincerely, with visions of weeks of no duty, months of lolling around, years of recuperation. "It pains me not to be able to get back into the fight right away. I guess I'll have to go on permanent sick call."
"That will be up to Commander Cook," said the doctor. "Take this note to him and don't forget to mention that I need a new door."
Bill left Hackenslash's office feeling about thirty-five pounds lighter, and he was halfway to Commander Cook's quarters before his back started killing him from bending over the too-small crutches.
The commander was staring out the window with his hands clasped behind his back when Bill arrived and tried to salute, managing to get all tangled up in his crutches so that he tumbled to the floor and rolled on his back like a beetle.
The commander bulged his eyes at this repulsive sight, then decided to ignore it. "At ease, Trooper," he ordered. As always, he was wearing his full-dress uniform, complete with saber, shotgun, sashes, ribbons, bullwhip, and medals that were really contraceptive holders, all this topped with an ornate gold-braid-covered tricornered hat. Reluctantly, he turned from the struggling Trooper and sighed.
"It's lonely at the top," he implied. "Just look out that window, Trooper. What do you see?"
"Stars, sir," said Bill. "That's about all anyone can see from this miserable place."
"Stars, son? Well, I guess some short-sighted un-imaginative son of a bowb like you would only see stars, but I see glory. Yes, glory - and conflict! Warfare that pits man against Chinger. Great battles just filled to overflowing with heroic acts and doomed, selfless sacrifices. Facing death on a daily basis, doing what a man has to do, tests a man's mettle, wouldn't you agree?"
"If you say so, sir," said Bill, who fervently thought no such thing.
"Makes men out of boys, women out of girls, heroes out of cowards, dogs out of cats. Nothing like death to make a person feel alive. Of course, some of us, besieged by circumstance, must stand back and serve. Without us supplying them, the frontline troops wouldn't stand a chance against the enemy. Take toilet paper. Have you ever considered the strategic ramifications of toilet paper, Trooper?"
"Can't say as I have, sir," said Bill, who was beginning to wonder, and not for the first time, if the commander was playing with a full deck.
"Too much toilet paper and they'll have to jettison ammunition or fuel to make room to store it. Too little and they'll spend all their time looking for substitutes when they should be fighting. We could lose the war because of toilet paper. Sink the entire operation because they had to make room - make room! Just think about that, son."
Bill did, and decided on the spot that the commander's elevator didn't go all the way to the top floor.
"Making command decisions about toilet paper is a terrible burden. With one forged requisition slip the Chingers could destroy our entire armed forces."
Bill nodded, firmly convinced now that the commander was one brick shy of a load.
"Consider the mighty decimal point. With one slip of a decimal point.... Say, what happened to your foot? Aren't you the bowb who's been trashing my installation?"
"Doctor Hackenslash needs a new door," said Bill hastily. "And he said for me to give you this."
Commander Cook took the note and shook his head as he read it, his lips moving reluctantly as he spelled out the harder words.
"I guess I ought to go on sick leave," Bill said quickly. "Some extended bunk time would be best, just until my foot grows back, which - unfortunately - will take a long time."
The commander frowned. "I can't use a partial soldier at this station. You might get all worried about your foot-bud and load too much toilet paper for our troops fighting bravely on the front line and cause us to lose the whole ball of wax to those despicable Chingers."
"Bunk time sounds fine to me," Bill smarmed hopefully. "It'll be a sacrifice not to be involved with the war effort, but I'll just screw myself to the sticking place, grit my teeth, and endure it."
"I'm not sure that I like this screwed sticking place, bowb. Sounds subversive. So suggest an alternative," said the commander. "Something that would be right up the alley for an ambitious cretin like you."
"I could sit and count the boxes as the men load them," said Bill, thinking fast. "I'm real good at counting."
"No, I think I'll make you an MP."
"Empee?" asked Bill.
"Military Police, dimschitz," said the commander. "The Bounty is shipping out tomorrow on a salvage operation with a crew of hardened criminals. They need an MP to go along. Being an official Galactic Hero, you're just the man we need to keep them under control."
"Begging your pardon, sir, but I don't see that my presence would be necessary. Using Bloater drive they'll get there instantly. There wouldn't be anything for me to do."
"Quite the contrary. The Bounty is not one of your more modern ships. The truth is, she's a clunker, a space-going Marie Celeste - not much more than a primitive repair shop with a phase-loop drive strapped on it. The ship's destination is the Beta Draconis region, where our glorious heroic fighting forces have recently waged a fierce battle. The area is full of floating junk and half-destroyed spacers that need to be patched up to get back into the fray."
"So why send criminals? Why send me?"
"That's the beauty of the plan. It takes care of so many problems at once. By sending all my prisoners along I empty the brig and get rid of a lot of dead weight around here. Phase-loop travel is slow, and by the time you reach Beta Draconis their jail terms will be up and they can go back to work. Plus, your foot will have regrown and you'll be ready for active duty."
The commander turned back to his window. "I envy you this assignment," he susurrated insincerely. "You might even see some action. Of course a repair ship doesn't carry much in the way of weapons, so if you do get out there and toe-up to the enemy, it'll be in a losing cause. Such a noble way to die! How I envy you."
Bill stifled the obvious suggestion to change places and gave up. "I can't wait," he disgruntled, knowing there was no way out.
"Report to the Bounty in the morning. Captain Blight will be expecting you."
Bill had a real bad feeling about the whole thing.

CHAPTER 2

The Bounty was nothing to write home about, and from what Bill had heard, Captain Blight was even less. Still, Bill was determined to make a good impression and gave the captain his very best salute, the one using both right hands. Under normal circumstances it was an extraordinary gesture that never failed to dazzle, but its effect was somewhat diminished by Bill having to drop his crutches to execute the complicated maneuver and consequently falling to the ground in a thrashing and undignified heap.
"They send me a crippled MP. Wonderful." Captain Blight sneered incontinently, scowling down at the struggling Bill. He was a large man, heavyset; husky, thickly rotund, and stout; overabundantly gross to a degree Bill would have thought physically impossible. The man apparently liked to eat. A lot. Often. With seconds of everything. He looked Bill over with growing disgust.