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

"Not me!"
"I ain't Brandox, that's for sure!" came the growls in response.
Damn! Time was running out. The doors were going to close on this thing any minute, and Bill would be
trapped on the way to Deathworld 69, never to return!
"Well, who the bowb is!"
"He's up in the really nasty part of the ship. He's in solitary along with some other bowbheads."
"Wonderful." Bill didn't question the concept of a shared solitary cell not only because he didn't have
time, but because this was a typical Trooper paradox. Bill just scrambled up another ladder into a truly
filthy section of the craft, if slightly better lit by the even more radioactive core. That was okay, thought
Bill. He'd been getting a bit pale lately and he could use a tan.
"Lieutenant Brandox!" He cried. "Junior."
"Hey pal!" slurred a voice. "Shat's me! What's shup?"
Bill turned. There against a wall was a true wreck of a Trooper holding a liter bottle of clear liquid. His
nose was red and his eyes were so bloodshot they looked as though there were no whites in them at all,
just pupil and veins. The odor of pure ethanol wafted over to Bill. For the first time in his entire life, Bill
was offended by the smell of drink. The overall stink of the place must be getting to him.
"Wanna drink?"
"Not right now. Take a look at this." Bill waved his GBI identification before the unseeing eyes. "C'mon,
lieutenant. We gotta move тАФ but fast."
"You betcha тАФ but gotta bring my bottle."
"Do it. That's why we want you."


file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Har...Planet%20of%20The%20Hippies%20From%20Hell.htm (12 of 91) [10/15/2004 5:51:10 PM]
 Bill, the Galactic Hero on the Planet of The Hippies From Hell

Bill dragged the drunk after him; he smelled like bargain night in the Dingbat Distillery. Bill took a deep
breath and decided maybe to leave off the booze a while, just so that he'd be really primed for Barworld.
But even as Brandox took an unsteady step, there was a jarring clang and he was pulled back into an
abrupt sitting position.
"Urp!" He said. "Forgot. Little problem." He jerkily indicated the tungsten bar around his chest, chained
to the bulkhead by impervium, the hardest metal known. "You got a thermal lance?"
"Two minutes until closing of hatch!" rasped a fiendish voice on the loudspeaker.
Bill squealed. He gave a feeble tug on the chain, but he knew it would be no good, and he sure as hell
didn't have time to look for a hacksaw тАФ which even if he found it would be about as useful as an
umbrella in a meteor shower.
"Sorry, Brandox. Looks like you're stuck here. Oh well, they say that Some Godforsaken Planet has nice
sunsets this time of year."
"Then I hope I get there after Deathworld 69!" said Brandox. "And I hope they've got good Margaritas."
The drunken lieutenant promptly passed out.
"Just as well," muttered Bill to himself as he searched for the exit. "I'd have to carry this lush to
Barworld."
Bill was just going to have to report that Lt. Brandox was unavailable for Special Mission Duty.
He found the ladder and crawled down it.
He made his way through the murky hold, anxious to get out of this Trooper's hellhole, searching for the
exit. So anxious was Bill, in fact, that he did not notice the rusty chain slung along the floor at ankle level.
He charged straight into it and went sprawling into the wall. Snap went the chain. However, his hardened
Trooper reflexes (and hardened Trooper head) prevented him from tumbling in unconsciousness after his
noggin met some metal. As he looked up blearily, looking for the exit, he was still quite aware that unless
he got his face through that door in under two minutes, his butt was going to get shipped to Deathworld