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

implants, they had managed to botch the job totally. Usually, a salvageable arm could be healed up in a few days. However, the doctors had programmed the wrong mixture in the heal-tank and Elliot's arm was going to be out of commission for a while.
    “Wow!” agreed Bill enthusiastically. “It sure is something!” He dodged a football that sailed over his head. A group of short-haired, ugly young men in silly-looking armored outfits and helmets began chasing the ball, kicking it and each other. Spectators occasionally got into the action by throwing a punch at one another. All in all there was a terrific spirit of competition and cooperation in the yeasty air.
    Bill and Elliot had just docked at Barworld. Following the orders of Bill's ear implant, they had taken a shuttle down to the unusual island of Rosebowl. Here quaint holograms of old and creakily picturesque buildings leaned in various states of historical decomposition, modeled on the sprawling skyscrapers and slums of long-vanished Old Earth. Here antique gin joints and cocktail lounges did a roaring business.
    For, after all, this was Barworld!
    “Gee — how come all the balls, Bill?” Elliot wanted to know. “The bars I can understand — but what's with the athletics?”
    At a weak, bored moment, back in a bar on the STARBLOATER, Bill had tugged on his ear, and got some gloomy Slavic music along with the information he was trying to access.
    “Well, you see, Elliot, although Barworld's main attraction is its bars, it is a resort world. It's got a lot of subdivisions.”
    “And this one's an island, right?”
    “Yeah, that's right. It's a resort for drinking football players and fans.”
    “What's football?”
    “I don't know. I mean I know, I got the explanation, but I couldn't understand a word of it. Something like two yards to conversion of a left out back, pass the ball and eat the goalpost. Or something like that.”
    “Sounds hideously complex. A sport only for intellectuals, I imagine.”
    “Yeah. The strain of thinking about football appears to be so great that the fans watch the teams play and then beat each other up. Once in a while, just for yucks, they drink themselves senseless, have a massive stampede and crush hundreds. Great sport, huh?”
    Dodging a wildly hurtling oval ball, Elliot Methadrine said, “Gee — I think I'll stick to potsy, myself.”
    “What a place, though, huh Elliot?”
    “Yeah, Bill,” said Elliot sniffing the somewhat sour air uneasily. “Smells like it could use a bar of soap!”
    “Ah, you won't notice the smell soon as we sit ourselves down at the place where we're supposed to be going. Uncle Nancy's Cross-Dressing Emporium! We'll have ourselves a couple of drinks and you'll see, we'll get this whole problem solved for the GBI — just like that. And then I'll have something that no other Trooper ever had.” A tear of happiness-to-come formed in the corner of his eye, and splashed saltily onto the beer mat. “I'm going to have a furlough, a vacation! I still can't believe it, I don't know how to spell it — but I'm going to have one anyway!”
    “Sounds good to me, Bill,” said Elliot. “I'll take one too. Give this arm a chance to heal.”
    “Yeah. Sorry about that, Elliot. You know, you saved my life back there. I guess I owe you. Will a drink do?”
    “Gee, Bill — I guess maybe you'll be able to save my life too before all this is over.”
    Bill nodded absently, too absorbed in this massive overkill of bars all around him. Some of the boozers had neon signs, while some of them had old-fashioned coats of arms or hanging wooden signs displaying their names and some painted picture. There were bars in all shapes and sizes, bars of all varieties. Unique bars and boutique bars. Small bars, big bars and candy bars. And all of them exuded a sense of community, conviviality, the noise of amiable song or fisticuffs — and the friendly sound of puking. Plus, the multitextured smell of absolutely the