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

"Look, is this rocket going to Some Godforsaken Planet?"
Sgt. Porky looked at him like he was from Hayseedworld. "Well of course it's going to some godforsaken
planet. They all do."
"No, that's the name of the place. Some Godforsaken Planet."
"Look, buddy, if you ain't got a name, I can't help you." A noisy blast of steam drowned out his voice.
"What?" said Bill.
"What's on Second Baseworld," said the guy.
"Who?"
"Who's on Firstworld. Plays shortstop for the Yankee Imperialists. Every sports-loving Trooper knows
that, bowbhead." His eyes squinted up with suspicion. "You a Chinger spy or something?"
Bill refrained from killing him on the spot. Teeth grinding, he shoved his official Galactic Bureau of
Investigation documents under the corporal's nose.
"Geez. A Fed. Sorry, you excellency. How can I serve you?" said the fat man, suddenly shiveringly
penitent.
"Where is this starship going?"
"Deathworld 69, sir. In the Missionary Position nebula."
"That's Some Godforsaken Planet!"
"Yes sir, it certainly is." The sergeant nodded his head emphatically. "It's real hell. Troopers who go there
never come back. Alive. Why's the GBI sending you there? Some kind of special mission?"
Bill sighed off his frustration. "No, I'm not going there. I need to get a guy in this ship who has been
dispatched there. We need him. You got an officer in there name of Brandox?"
The guard consulted his clipboard. "Yeah. Here we go, sir. Brandox. He's aboard. But we've only got five
minutes till we seal the port. Wouldn't do to have a starship lift off into the near vacuum with its barn door


file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Har...Planet%20of%20The%20Hippies%20From%20Hell.htm (11 of 91) [10/15/2004 5:51:10 PM]
 Bill, the Galactic Hero on the Planet of The Hippies From Hell

hanging wide open, now would it?"
"One more joke and you are dead. Stop all lift-off procedures instantly."
"I can't!" He wailed, vibrating with fear. "You stop the countdown on one of these antique models, they
blow up. Energy-saving measure, Emperor's own orders."
"I gotta get in there and get that guy out before the doors close, then. Right. A Trooper's gotta do what a
Trooper's gotta do." Namely, get this alcoholic officer out of there so they could both go to Barworld. Bill
parked the grav-car (on the check-in sergeant's foot at first, which cost a scream of grief and a wasted
forty-five seconds) then galloped up the starship ramp.
That the BEELZEBUB was a "Meat Runner" тАФ Trooper argot for a vessel that dragged the detritus of the
military ranks to their dooms тАФ was immediately made apparent by the profound odor de Trooper that
met Bill's nose upon entering the hold. The starship itself was clearly an old freighter pressed into service
not only long past its prime but well past its expiration date. Its welds were strained, its wiring leaking
volts and the whole thing vibrated like a Spican wartdog in rut. Bill slapped his way through a number of
hanging cables and plumbing lines, his nose twitching at the visible fug of the interior. The autolifts were
welded immobile with rust, so Bill had to climb a series of ladders.
Finally, he reached a large, dark chamber only dimly lit by the starship's reactor core and a few candles.
"Is there a Lieutenant Brandox Junior in here!"
Groans. The clank of tin cups, the slosh of chamber pots, the smell of stale bread and beans, the clank of
chains. Dim forms moved in the shadows.
"Lieutenant Brandox Junior didja say?" came a groan.
"That's right," said Bill hopefully.
"Ain't me!"