Bill 4 - on the Planet of Tasteless Pleasure by Harry Harrison Read Free Book Online

must rescue she whom ist the love of thy life and give voice to thy tendermost feelings.
    "Twoest A: Thou must seek the answer to the age-old question: How canst personskind achieve peace in our time, obtain a truce withest the Chingers, and live happily ever after.
    “Twoest B: (It's a corollary) Verily, whyest dost thou hairy monstrosities called 'men' rejoice in war, mindless lust, strong drink and Sunday afternoon anti-gravball.”
    “Gosh,” snarled Bill. “Why don't you ask me to find the Meaning of Life as well.”
    “Oh, we women know that, silly,” said one of the Furries slyly. “Now be-est off with you and heed the curse and solve our request, for sure as the dove that you have murdered rots, so rottest thy soul, and perhaps eventually the root-spot of thy short and curlies!”
    With a thunderclap and a blast of fire, the Furries were suddenly gone, leaving behind only the smell of sulfur, brimstone and the toiletries section of Galactic Harrods-Bloomingdales.
    Bill clutched his crotch reflexively at the very thought of the last threat. The thought of a groin transplant was enough to chill his very marrow. He'd had enough problems with his foot! Imagine if he got stuck with a mood pe—
    “No!” he cried out, shutting out the very idea. “I'll get out of this. Somehow!”
    First, the true love bit. Well, clearly in this case, the Furries meant Irma. He'd have to traipse after her and save her from Zeus, up there on Mount Olympus.
    Fine. But then that other bit — peace with the Chingers? This sounded awfully suspicious, but what could he do? He didn't want to go around his entire life with a dead and moldering dove around his neck. It would make a big impression back in the barracks. His recruits would laugh him right off the drill field! He tried again to take the thing off, but could not.
    First, though, he went down to the bubbling brook he'd hoped to take Irma skinny-dipping in, and washed off some of the Grime.
    Then, he went over to the roasted spit of Bruce meat, cut off a few hunks for the trip, and set out for the celestial home of the Home of the Gods, and a mano a mano with Zeus himself.
    All in all, thought Bill, he'd rather be back in boot camp.

CHAPTER 6
    A STARSHIP NAMED "DESIRE"
    Bill climbed the mountain.
    Since his home planet of Phigerinadon II was a very flat world, and he'd yet to be assigned for battle duty or so-called rest upon a mountainous world, Bill had absolutely nil experience with climbing mountains.
    However, his Trooper training, to say nothing of his rock-hard Trooper ex-farmer muscles, now served him in good stead. His legs worked like rusty pistons as he climbed up the narrow crevices and steep goat trails of Mount Olympus. For fuel, he ate the pieces of Bruce the Transvestite Satyr he had taken along which, while certainly being a novel diet to say the least, sustained capric-satyric life. Actually, they were very tasty, though for Bill's taste the garlic could have been a bit less pronounced, and some Chingerra sauce would be nice. Halfway up though he reached a kind of plateau and the climbing got easier and even a little boring, so he stuck his copy of BLEEDER'S DIGEST up his nose so that he could read as he climbed.
    He could feel the device slide around inside his sinuses as it attached its electronic appendages. There was a muffled whirring sound as it did its work and a shuddering frisson as it attached itself to his brain.
    A “mind's eye” screen appeared in his frontal lobes which he could read wonderfully well, as it superimposed orange words over his field of vision.
    First up was a short catalog of the Read-a-Book's contents.
    He selected an appropriate condensed novel and dug into the craggy prose even as his hands found holds in the craggy mountainside.
    CRITTERS OF MYST AND MEMORY
    by
    Michael Huge-Jackson
    Call me Conrad Hilton.
    No, strike that. Call me Gunga Din.
    Naw, just go ahead and call me Gus.
    When I'm a professional wrestler, they call me