"Harry Harrison - Bill 2 - On The Planet Of Robot Slaves" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

answer was only silence, which was fine.22He wrenched the metal end off the
nearest bed and broke the door in. The place was a pigsty-but this pig was a
real boozer. Bill selected two of the most lethal looking bottles. Hid one in
his barracks bag and cracked the seal on the other. As soon as the steam had
stopped rising he drank deep and sighed happily. Before he got too zonked he
set the alarm on the sonowatch. When McGurk, the trooper's friend, told
him it was time to wakey-wakey Bill was just finishing the bottle. He
staggered to his feet and shouldered his barracks bag. That is he made a
feeble attempt to shoulder it, but instead of him pulling it up it pulled him
down. "Wosha," he said, watching the lights go round and round as he
leaned on the bag for support. "You like it down there, sir?" a voice
said. After much blinking Bill made out the form of one of the recruits
standing over him. Bulging of eye and strong of shoulder. After a few failed
attempts to speak Bill managed a coherent and fairly articulate sentence.
"I do not like it down here." Muttering sympathetically, the recruit
helped Bill to his swaying feet, steadied him until he stayed vertical.
"Name..." Bill said with slow precision. "Name's Wurber, your honor. Ahh
just arrived..." "Shut up. Pick up that bag. Hold me up. Walk." In
this manner they weaved their way to the landing pad. Bill shuddered at the
sight of the battered tug, then permitted Wurber to support him as they
climbed painfully aboard. The recruit's generosity was well rewarded
by23his being drafted to load supplies, drafted a second time to fill out
the depleted crew. Thus does the military render swift justice to those who
break the first commandment: Keep the mouth shut and don't volunteer. C
HAPTER 324Give her that, the grand old lady of the garbage
fleet, the Imelda Marcos, was a workhorse, yes she was. Maybe she was wider
than she was long, pitted and rusty, stained black by coffee grounds, gaily
festooned with toilet paper, speckled with potato peels, maybe she was all
those things. But she could puff and toot and really do her job. The garbage
container had never been made that she could not lift into space. No sewage
tanker existed that she could not swing into orbit. She was a worker. Her
commander wasn't. Captain Bly had once been first in his class in the Space
Academy, had had all of the promise of the best and the brightest. But he had
thrown it all away with one small mistake, one moment's dallying where he
should not have dallied, one moment's surrender to lust. Unhappily, his
commanding officer had, tragically, returned to his quarters early that same
day. He had found young Bly in bed with his wife. And his nephew. Not to
mention a sheep, and his favorite hunting dog. The commander had really loved
that dog. Needless to say things did not go well for Bly after that. There
are some things that are just not done. Even in the navy. Which says a lot.
For a mo25ment's indiscretion a career had been ruined. He lived to regret
it. If only he hadn't taken on the dog too! But it was far, far too late for
recriminations. A gentleman would have done the Right Thing. But he was no
longer a gentleman. The officers of the fleet had seen to that. He had been
shuttled from ship to ship, ever sinking lower, ever moving on. Until he had
ended up here in command of the Imelda Marcos. She was a good old tug and
did her job with gruff efficiency. Even though her captain was high or stoned,
or both, most of the time. But now, for the first time that any of the crew,
even the oldest compacter's mate, could remember, he was sober. Unshaven
stubble smeared the pasty gray of his jowls, as shaky of hand, bright red of