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

tasted some real beer, some real wine, and most of all genuine unsynthetic whiskey, gin and rum, he knew
that he wanted to dedicate his life to finding a world where he could sample again the fruits of this
delicious alcoholic vine.
Such a world, it was whispered in the darkness, was Barworld.
And the Galactic Feds were actually sending him there!
That was if he could only find this guy whose dossier had been given him in that vanilla folder. (He knew
it was vanilla and not manila because he'd gotten drunk at his liquid lunch and eaten it.)
As it happened, the Trooper that Bill had been dispatched to find тАФ Lieutenant Hardtack Brandox, Jr. тАФ
was at this moment right here on the same planet as Bill, the main location of Galactic bureaucratic
matters and center for the manufacture of women's underwear, Drawerworld.
A good deal of red tape, filing of requests and crossed communications later (to say nothing of stop-offs
at bars and latrines to research Brandox's famous drinking habits and, perhaps, maybe a snort or two for
himself), Bill found Lieutenant Brandox's squadron to be on jinx Ether Force Base.
"Make it fast," snarled Captain Quarterpounder, looking up suspiciously at Bill from a mountain of
paperwork. "Lieutenant Brandy? What a boozer. Sweats pure ethyl. But you're too late, bowb-brains.
Should have been here a day earlier. He's just been reassigned to Some Godforsaken Planet."
"Which planet?"
"Some Godforsaken Planet, bowb тАФ don't you hear very well? That's the name. That's what they call it.
Deathworld 69 to be more specific. One of the several hundred slaughterhouses of combat between
humans and the Chingers, along with the rest of the filthy ETs in the universe, Ahura Mazda rot their
alien green bones!"
"Well, perhaps you can call him back. I am on official business." Bill showed him the ID bracelet that the
GBI had given him, strapped on the wrist under his communicator.
"Tough termites, Trooper. That bit of bureaucratic bowb means nothing here. Brandox is well on his
alcohol-sodden way to the lift-off fields."
The captain gloomily examined a chronometer. Satisfied that the chrono was still metered, he examined


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 Bill, the Galactic Hero on the Planet of The Hippies From Hell

the standard issue Trooper Clock bearing the scowling face of the Beloved Emperor. "Should be blasting
off in about two hours. If you move your butt you might just catch it." He grinned with cheerful sadism.
"Or you can maybe go along for the ride. I hear that Deathworld 69 is really in this year for suicidal tours
of duty."
"No thanks. I've got something to live for!" said Bill enthusiastically.
The captain eyed him suspiciously. "Something wrong with you, Trooper? You're supposed to die doing
your duty. Come home with your shield or on it. You know the bowb."
"No sir! I mean yes, sir!" Bill realized with horror that he'd almost spilled the beans about being on his
way to Barworld тАФ a definite no-no, since not only was the mission top secret but the captain would
probably shoot him from sheer jealousy. "I think it was just a spasm of pure joy from beholding our dear
Emperor's face there smiling away on the bulkhead."
"Yeah? Well, stow it when you are around here, buddy. It's bowb-your-buddy month here on
Drawerworld and we've only got one month per year. Understand?"
Bill sneered, showing his fangs in his best DI manner. He saluted with both his right hands. "Yes sir!"
He trotted off for the takeoff fields to find Lt. Brandox before the starship made its lift-off.

The Happy Trails Takeoff fields were about two hours away by grav-car, but Bill, through breakneck
speed, high-reflex steering and the sacrifice of a few dogs, cats, a little old lady and a second lieutenant,
managed to make it to them in just a little over an hour and a half.