Bill 2 - on the Planet of Robot Slaves by Harry Harrison Read Free Book Online

caressed few fevered brows around here. So let's hear it for the old fascist pecking order. We will march!”
    They jumped to their feet, swayed forward awaiting instructions. “You do it, Bill, this must be the sort of thing you were trained for. Divide what we got five ways and fix packs or something that we can carry the stuff in.”
    “But — there are six of us, sir.”
    “I issue orders, I don't take them. Five. Report to me when this task is done.” He rooted about in Bill's barracks bag as he spoke and emerged triumphant with the remains of Bill's spare bottle of booze. “And while you are doing that I am going to do a little catching up with you teaheads, dopeheads and boozeheads. Work!”
    The sun was high in the sky before the job was done. The admiral was snoring happily, the depleted bottle clutched in his limp fingers. Bill pried it away and drained the little booze that was left before waking him up.
    “Whuzha?”
    “All done, sir. Ready to march.”
    Praktis started to speak, coughed instead, then held his head in both hands and moaned. “Well...I'm not. Not until I've had a handful of pills.” He fumbled through his wallet for a bottle, shook out a dozen tablets and ordered water in a cracked voice. The pharmaceutical dynamite worked its wonders and he finally permitted Bill to help him to his feet.
    “Load up. Get Cy over here at once with the compass.”
    The heavily laden technician staggered up and passed over the instrument, pointing out the heading to be followed. Praktis plugged his pocket computer to a small speaker, mounted this on one epaulet, then searched the digitalized molecular memory for music. Found a merry marching tune, then played it at full scratchy volume while he led his brave little band out into the desert.
    As soon as they were gone the rats emerged from hiding, searched what had been left behind for edible remains, then turned their eager attention to the mountain of garbage which was well cooked and finally cooled enough to be consumed. The shuffle of feet and the sound of music soon died away. The only sound to break the desert stillness was the crunch of rodent jaws.
    Into this gustatory paradise something penetrated. A new sound perhaps, a new presence. Rat after rat lifted its furry head, twitched ears and whiskers. Leapt down from the mountain of mashed munchies and sought shelter.
    Something dark and ominous, low and broad and metallic whirred into sight over the top of a dune. Metal clanked against metal and there was a quick burst of sharp bleeping. Something passed beside the mountain of steaming garbage, past the burnt out spacer, and slowly up the dune beyond.
    When silence once more wrapped the garbage in its pristine mantle the rats reemerged and resumed noshing.
    Ignoring the trail of footprints that led away through the sand. A trail now obscured by the tracks of something that pursued the valiant little band of survivors.

CHAPTER 6
    Admiral Praktis marched proudly at the head of his brave little band, marching to the jolly drumbeat of the music that was deafening his right ear. Up dune and down dune and up dune once again. Until he looked over his shoulder and saw that he was alone in the desert. His burst of panic was allayed when the first of his straggling followers stumbled into sight. It was Meta striving manfully, womanfully rather, under her load. The others weren't doing quite as well. Praktis sat down and tapped his fingers on his knee and muttered to himself until they had all managed to stagger up.
    “We are going to have to do better than this.”
    “Watch that royal We, Praktis,” Captain Bly sneered. “Your We is not carrying packs while our We is.”
    “You are being subordinate, Captain!”
    “You bet your sweet ass I am, sawbones. I was in this man's navy when you were still in premed. We are in a live and die situation here. Probably die. So I don't move until you carry your share.”
    “This is mutiny!”
    “Sure is,” Meta