"Harry Harrison & Robert Sheckley - Bill the Galactic Hero 3 " - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

because I'm sort of sneaky and rotten myself."
"They don't have that feeling where I come from," Bill said.
"No? How curious. Anyhow, I'm going to have to stay away for a while. But don't worry, I'm working on
your case."
"Hurry up, while I'm still inside this head," Bill said.
Since then quite a few days and nights had gone by since he had seen her. Exactly how many he didn't
know, because Tsuris seemed to have an odd fluttery sort of movement around its sun, resulting in days
and nights of differing lengths. Some days were what the Tsurisians called Tiger Days, or was it Picket-
Fence Days? The translation was a little difficult. Those days in which the sun rose and set every hour on
the hour, striping the planet in yellow and black. He decided to make a mark on the wall to mark each
period of light. He didn't know why he was doing this but it was what guys in cells were always doing in
the stories he used to read back home in the hayrick behind the manure pile back on his parents' farm on
Phigerinadon. He tried the mark system, but when he came to do his next mark, he found that he had put
his mark close to a mark already on the wall which he hadn't noticed. Unless he had marked two light
periods without remembering it. Or had marked one light period twice absentmindedly. The more he
thought about it, the more he decided that mark-making in prison was the sort of thing you ought to study
in school before trying it in field conditions. So mostly he sat. There were no books or newspapers
available, and no television. Luckily there was a small switch on the side of his translator that let him
switch it from "Translate" to "Converse". Bill felt a little silly doing it, but there didn't seem to be anyone
else around to talk to.
"Hello," he said.


file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Har...0-%20The%20Planet%20of%20Bottled%20Brains.htm (12 of 122) [10/16/2004 2:56:55 PM]
 Bill, the Galactic Hero on the Planet of Bottled Brains

"'Alo," the translator said. "'Ow are you, heh?"
"Why are you speaking with a stupid accent?" Bill asked.
"Because I am a translator, that's why, Buster." The thing sounded very miffed. "It would falsify my
position and my image if I didn't allow impurities inherited from the many languages I deal with to creep
into my talk during my conversational phase."
"That's a pretty dim reason," Bill said.
"Well not to me, squishy repulsive non-machine creature!" the translator said heatedly.
"There is no reason to get insulting," Bill muttered. A mechanical sniff of annoyance was his only
answer. After this there was a long silence. Then Bill said, "Seen any good movies lately?"
"What?" said the translator.
"Movies," Bill said.
"Are you crazy or something? I am a tiny transistorized gadget lodged under your right armpit. Or on
your ear. I get about. How would I ever get to see a movie?"
"I was just making a joke," Bill said.
"They didn't tell us about jokes," the translator complained. "Is that enough?"
"Enough what?"
"Conversation."
"No, of course not! I've just begun!"
"But you see, I've almost used up the conversational capacity which was built into me. I will still carry on
as your translator, of course, but I very much regret telling you that the conversational aspect of our
relationship is at an end. Over and out."
"Translator?" Bill said after a while.
Silence from the translator.
"Haven't you got any words left at all?" Bill asked.