Bill, The Galactic Hero 6 - on the Planet Of The Hippies From Hell by Harry Harrison Read Free Book Online Page A

MEN'S room and his clothes when Elliot Methadrine stumbled through the door, walked a few paces and then fell down, moaning. In his right arm he held a small derringer-blaster; his left arm was badly burned.
    “Medic!” Bill called out loudly and automatically. “Medic!”
    “Gee — maybe the ship's doctor would be a better idea, huh, Bill?” said Elliot Methadrine, grimacing with pain but trying to get up nonetheless. “I doubt if there are any Trooper medics aboard. That guy kind of gave me a good one.”
    Bill looked down. Nothing good about this wound. One thing good it proved though: no way could this guy possibly be the Chinger called Bgr in a robot suit. This guy was human, no question about that.
    A human going into shock.
    “He sure did do that.” Bill went to the phone and called up the ship's emergency medical team. However, it appeared that the emergency forces aboard the STARBLOATER had already been alerted. Red lights started flashing everywhere, and Bill could hear the clatter and thump of running feet. Any moment now help would be on its way.
    But before they carted Elliot off, Bill had to ask him something. He had to smack him around a bit to get him back to working consciousness, but finally the guy roused. “Elliot. Who the bowb was that guy? And what happened to him?”
    “I don't know, Bill,” said Elliot. “I winged him, he scorched me, and then alarms started going off and he ran. I chased him down a corridor all the way to the bow.... And then he just ... disappeared.”
    “You mean, he hid and you couldn't find him. So he's got to be somewhere still on board this ship.”
    “Gee — No. I mean, disappeared. Into thin air. Like a sort of ghost fading out. One moment there he was, wild-eyed and hairy. The next, he just melted into thin air.”
    “Melted?”
    “No, wait. It was like there was this hole. This wavering energy fluctuation ... and he stepped into it and he was ... gone.”
    Elliot took a deep breath. “Gee — Bill. Do you think he's a time traveler? Do you think this is one of the guys we're after ... and he's trying to get you first?”
    “I think —” said Bill. “I think that I need a big tumbler of whiskey.”
    “One more thing, Bill. I recognized him ... I mean, not personally, but generically. He's a hippie, Bill. A hippie from Hellworld. Do you know what that means, Bill?”
    Bill's eyes bugged. “Yeah. That means you need a whiskey too.”

CHAPTER 5
    A Hippie!
    From Hellworld!
    Bill didn't really know what that meant, but it didn't sound real good. However, Elliot passed out before he could tell him, and was carted off to the ship's sick bay for emergency medical attention. Bill stumbled into the bar and ordered his jug of whiskey — but made sure that he kept a gun, safety off, by his side.
    In the dark ship's bar, Bill made discreet inquiries into the exact nature of his would-be assassin.
    “Hey, you bowbs,” he addressed the assemblage of ancient lieutenants and brain-dead captains, weaving back and forth, red eyes glaring, spittle glistening on his fangs. “Anybody here know what hippies from Hellworld are?”
    If anyone knew, they weren't telling. Or were too wiped out to even hear him. So Bill just ordered a refill and whiled away the time till the arrival of the STARBLOATER at Barworld. Elliot Methadrine was out for a few days.... And it never occurred to Bill that his computer earlobe companion might have had the information....
    Or maybe he just didn't want to listen to any more ethnic music for a while.
    Whatever the case, Bill spent the remainder of the voyage to Barworld prepping his system for what it could expect when they landed.
    Booze.
    “Gee, Bill! This is a great place!” said Elliot Methadrine, gesturing with his good arm. The other one, wrapped in plastiband, hung limply from his shoulder in a cloth sling. The doctors on the STARBLOATER had performed a miracle. In an era of computerized microsurgery, growth replacement and arm-bud