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

"No! I want two normal human feet, like I started with."
"Ah, of course," the computer said. It hummed and buzzed for a while, presumably going through its
memory banks looking for the correct solution to Bill's problem. After a while it said; "Go to Room 1223-
B on level Verdigris, Section Vector-Vector 2, and they'll fix you up."
Finding your way around the base was no easy matter, since the main structure was the size of a middle-
sized city and contained over three thousand rooms, torture halls, meeting places, contraceptive
dispensers, intravenous feeding cafeterias, storage facilities, and the like, spread over ten different levels.
Troopers had been known to wander through it for days at a time. Almost any time you went through you
could see troopers sleeping in heaps of camouflage clothing at the intersections. It was notorious that you
should take along provisions and a full canteen of water when you were going anywhere in the base. As
Bill set out, a vehicle the size of an electrified golf cart pulled up beside him.
"Hello, Bill," the golf cart's voice box said. "I have been sent by the computer to take you to your
destination. Care for a drink? Nothing too good for our boys in uniform."
Bill thought the golf cart sounded entirely too affable. But he got in. It was a lot better than walking the
interminable miles he'd have to cover to reach Room 1223-B.
They whisked along down the olive, drab corridors, the golf cart humming a cheery little tune to itself.
They passed through Maintenance and Communications to a section called Planning.
"This doesn't look like a medical section," Bill said.
"Don't worry about it," the golf cart said. "I know where I'm going."
It swept up a ramp, doubled down a corridor, and made for a door at the end. Bill winced, because the
golf cart had gathered speed and the door was closed. He cowered back in his seat as the golf cart hurtled
itself at the door. Bill closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands. When he looked up again, they
were on the other side of the door, which had opened by an electric eye arrangement and was now closing
again.
He was in some sort of officers' lounge, which had been gotten up to look like an old Earth-style saloon.
There were Tiffany lamps and dark furniture made of genuine plastic. There was a long bar with white-
shirted bartenders working behind it. There was a jukebox playing vintage rock on fake original ancient
instruments like synthesizers and electric guitars, some of them looking several hundreds of years old,
though they had probably been made last week. There were about a dozen uniformed officers of either
sex present. They all had drinks in their hands. They cheered when the golf cart speeded into the room,
made a neat circle in the middle, and came to a stop.
"Excuse me," Bill said. "Is this the Medical section?"
That brought a good round of hearty laughter. Men crowded around and congratulated Bill on his wit.
One woman, a majorette, no less, with fluffy blonde hair and a pert nose and giant boobs, sat in Bill's lap
and kissed him soundly. Somebody else asked him what he'd like to drink. Bill was so rattled he just said
yes. So they brought him a stirrup cup filled with a mixture of that day's alcoholic beverages. The taste of
rum was most prominent, as well as a tang of horse from the stirrup, and Bill drained it gratefully, having
learned never to look a gift drink in the goblet.


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 Bill, the Galactic Hero on the Planet of Bottled Brains

The lady major who had kissed him got out of his lap and into his face. With her nose no more than
millimeters from his, she looked long and deep into Bill's eyes. Then she said in a thrilling contralto voice
with a faint whiskey burr to it, "You're just like I imagined you'd be."
"Well," Bill said, "I try."
"What a clever remark," one colonel murmured to another.
"He's obviously a clever chap," said a white-haired colonel, who appeared to be the ranking officer. "Get
him a cigar, somebody. And no more of that rotgut; pour him some of the good cognac we liberated at the