"Harry Harrison & David Bischoff - Bill the Galactic Hero 6 -" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

As always, when he approached the mighty Imperial launching pads Bill gasped an appreciative gasp or
two at the sight of the towering behemoth starships reaching imperially toward the sky, their shiny
impervium sparkling in the sunlight, the silvery needles of their bows pointed upward toward challenge
and adventure.
Then, as usual, he experienced a depressing mood swing as he was admitted by the checkpoint guard past
the ceremonial holo-facade of these imaginary vessels into the grungy and smoggy reality of the true
Imperial takeoff fields. Greasy smoke poured up from cracks in the ground. The smell of diesel fuel and
sulfur permeated the air. Blackened technicians trucked around in dilapidated service vehicles looking
like recently nuked worker ants. There were maybe twenty starships in various states of disrepair rising up
from the ground like twisted mushrooms in a bed of mold. Their skins were pitted by the craters of
interstellar dust, spattered with the bird droppings of countless worlds.
The question was, which one was Brandox's?
Bill stopped a gray-skinned Trooper wearing corporal's stripes on his eyepatch and inquired.
"Deathworld 69? That's like a really hard question. We've got maybe three starships getting ready to
heave up mightily through the atmosphere. Hard to tell them apart." The corporal, Bill noticed, had the
telltale scars on his forehead of a jobotomy. That was why he wasn't being shipped off himself; he'd
probably been a trouble-maker or attempted to go AWO (there was no AWOL or Absent WithOut Leave
in This Bowb's Army, since "leave" was a foreign concept). A jobotomy was like a lobotomy, only they
stuck a little programmed computer in the place where there used to be about half the gray matter; it kept
the victim in line and gave him a preprogrammed duty. The corporal sighed. "Wish I could go with them
into glorious battle. Alas, I am but a ground jockey. Gotta serve my Empire here amidst the dirt and
gravity. But like the Emperor says, 'They also serve who stand and wait!'"
"Wait? Wait for what? Just knock off that pseudo-romantic bowb and tell me which ship it is."
The corporal just grinned, glassy-eyed.
"Never mind," said Bill. "I'll find it myself."

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Har...Planet%20of%20The%20Hippies%20From%20Hell.htm (10 of 91) [10/15/2004 5:51:10 PM]
 Bill, the Galactic Hero on the Planet of The Hippies From Hell


It shouldn't be too hard, Bill muttered to himself. Starships about ready to take off from the ground look a
lot different from the moribund, inactive sort. Like their ports were closed: good clue! And they shake
around like a pent-up volcano, spurting steam from their seams and generally looking like water heaters
about to blow. Hell, some of them did blow, instantly killing all aboard and anyone in the immediate
vicinity. In the past, with atomic drives, there had been nuclear explosions that destroyed whole cities.
This was why atomic drives were no longer allowed for lift-off use. Steam catapults hurled them into the
air, then chemical booster rockets were used. At least when these blew up, they did so discreetly in the
atmosphere where no high-level officers were around.
It didn't take long for Bill to find a likely candidate for the Rocket Ship Most Likely To. There was a
particularly noisy and noisome bucket of bolts in midfield that was vibrating like a teakettle at full boil.
Its engines were building up to an excited white-hot state of excitement, and lights were spinning wildly
everywhere. However, since a large gangplank was still extended and a noncom was standing at its base
with a clipboard and an atomic ballpoint, Bill thought maybe there were still a few minutes left until
ignition.
"Hey buddy, no way are we going to fit that grav-car you're driving into the BEELZEBUB!" said the
noncom, a beefy sergeant with a chip on his shoulder. It was a corn chip, apparently from lunch, but Bill
didn't have the time or the patience to tell the guy how stupid it looked.
"I'm not shipping the car, I тАФ"
"Then get it the hell outta here. To one of the satellite lots. Take a right at the abandoned second-stage
thruster, and a left at the graveyard till you see the pile of rusty rockets. Move it."