Read Online Bill 4 - on the Planet of Tasteless Pleasure by Harry Harrison - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Harry Harrison
Ads: Link
Niven
ASF's sons, all — so what if they couldn't write.
They knew their nuts from their bolts, and boy could they fight.
Our blaster, you see, wasn't loaded with energy rounds.
It was stocked with ultra and hyperfrequency sounds.
Homocentric readings from Asimov, deCamp and Clement.
Dickson and del Rey, thrilling as drying cement.
We blasted the coup de grace! Hyperboreals!
John W. Campbell's editorials!
Stunned, the Empire's death ships whimpered away.
Old Death hoisted surrender. Ours was the day!
They say good old John Campbell, he's somewhere up there.
Watching new writers with all their hot air.
Gulping aloud great celestial gulps.
“If this junk is SF — then bring back the pulps!”
The last chords of the song hung in the air between them like the final strains of Bill's favorite martial music by John Philip Soused. Big fat tears dripped down his cheeks. He sniffled and choked back his heart rising in his throat.
“Bowb! That ... that was the most beautiful song ... I ... I ever heard in my entire life.”
“Then you will be feeling better, First Mate Bill?”
“Yeah! Much better.”
“Arrrrrr! That's me hearty! You're a super trooper, Bill. Arrrrr! It's a pleasure having you aboard. Now we better get back to our hammocks and squeeze in the winks! Navigational computer says that the Holy Bar and Grill is just a matter of days away!”
Irma! He would be able to see Irma again. He sighed with passion like a leaking locomotive. Smiling happily at the thought of her bright innocent eyes, her shapely body, her gentle feminine sighs.
He fell asleep then, still smiling. Dreaming dreams of such erotic content that his body temperature rose five degrees and moisture condensed on the bulkhead above.
CHAPTER 8
LAST CALL AT THE HOLY BAR AND GRILL
As it happened, it took somewhat more than a week to finally find their goal, and Rick the Supernal Hero had to resort to a variation of the Bloater Drive he'd bought in a used starship lot, called a Bilious Drive. Bill had always hated the Bloater Drive when Empire Trooper ships had used it to hop between star systems and if anything the Bilious Drive was exceedingly worse, since it involved pumping the entire space ship full of a singularly repulsive mixture of xenon and hydrogen and sulfurous gases which made everything — if the Bible is to be believed — literally stink like hell. When the right mixture of gases had been reached, their molecules were vibrated electronically until the gas, the ship and all of its contents were shaking like crazy and synchronized with the atomic pulse beat of their destination. The instant this occurred everything would be belched across the cosmic distances in a most uncomfortable and sickening manner. Bill even thought good things about the Bloater Drive when this happened.
But when the starship named DESIRE finally drifted into the Ad Hoc System, he saw the gigantic neon signs flashing out the letters “Holy Bar and Grill,” “On the Sands Stage: Mr. Wayne Newton!” and “Nude Drinking” and “Topless-Bottomless Bar” which he hoped meant more nudity and not prefrontal lobotomy and gluteotomy. A tear in his eye, a frog in his throat — and incipient liver failure on the horizon — Bill knew that his heart had finally found a home.
The Holy Bar and Grill was actually a large complex of hover-buildings, squatting beatifically in a bank of chartreuse clouds on anti-grav plates, high above the giant methane world of Zeus.
“Old Zeus loves this huge planet mostly because it's named after him,” explained Rick as he swung the starship named DESIRE in to land it on a pillar of crimson flame.
“Yikes,” said Bill. “How come there's a pillar of crimson flame down there in the middle of that spaceport?”
“Complimentary ionized starship hull cleaning service!”
“We're going to cook!”
“Also kills any space bacteria hanging onto the fins. Asteroid barnacles and such. Don't worry, Bill. It's
ASF's sons, all — so what if they couldn't write.
They knew their nuts from their bolts, and boy could they fight.
Our blaster, you see, wasn't loaded with energy rounds.
It was stocked with ultra and hyperfrequency sounds.
Homocentric readings from Asimov, deCamp and Clement.
Dickson and del Rey, thrilling as drying cement.
We blasted the coup de grace! Hyperboreals!
John W. Campbell's editorials!
Stunned, the Empire's death ships whimpered away.
Old Death hoisted surrender. Ours was the day!
They say good old John Campbell, he's somewhere up there.
Watching new writers with all their hot air.
Gulping aloud great celestial gulps.
“If this junk is SF — then bring back the pulps!”
The last chords of the song hung in the air between them like the final strains of Bill's favorite martial music by John Philip Soused. Big fat tears dripped down his cheeks. He sniffled and choked back his heart rising in his throat.
“Bowb! That ... that was the most beautiful song ... I ... I ever heard in my entire life.”
“Then you will be feeling better, First Mate Bill?”
“Yeah! Much better.”
“Arrrrrr! That's me hearty! You're a super trooper, Bill. Arrrrr! It's a pleasure having you aboard. Now we better get back to our hammocks and squeeze in the winks! Navigational computer says that the Holy Bar and Grill is just a matter of days away!”
Irma! He would be able to see Irma again. He sighed with passion like a leaking locomotive. Smiling happily at the thought of her bright innocent eyes, her shapely body, her gentle feminine sighs.
He fell asleep then, still smiling. Dreaming dreams of such erotic content that his body temperature rose five degrees and moisture condensed on the bulkhead above.
CHAPTER 8
LAST CALL AT THE HOLY BAR AND GRILL
As it happened, it took somewhat more than a week to finally find their goal, and Rick the Supernal Hero had to resort to a variation of the Bloater Drive he'd bought in a used starship lot, called a Bilious Drive. Bill had always hated the Bloater Drive when Empire Trooper ships had used it to hop between star systems and if anything the Bilious Drive was exceedingly worse, since it involved pumping the entire space ship full of a singularly repulsive mixture of xenon and hydrogen and sulfurous gases which made everything — if the Bible is to be believed — literally stink like hell. When the right mixture of gases had been reached, their molecules were vibrated electronically until the gas, the ship and all of its contents were shaking like crazy and synchronized with the atomic pulse beat of their destination. The instant this occurred everything would be belched across the cosmic distances in a most uncomfortable and sickening manner. Bill even thought good things about the Bloater Drive when this happened.
But when the starship named DESIRE finally drifted into the Ad Hoc System, he saw the gigantic neon signs flashing out the letters “Holy Bar and Grill,” “On the Sands Stage: Mr. Wayne Newton!” and “Nude Drinking” and “Topless-Bottomless Bar” which he hoped meant more nudity and not prefrontal lobotomy and gluteotomy. A tear in his eye, a frog in his throat — and incipient liver failure on the horizon — Bill knew that his heart had finally found a home.
The Holy Bar and Grill was actually a large complex of hover-buildings, squatting beatifically in a bank of chartreuse clouds on anti-grav plates, high above the giant methane world of Zeus.
“Old Zeus loves this huge planet mostly because it's named after him,” explained Rick as he swung the starship named DESIRE in to land it on a pillar of crimson flame.
“Yikes,” said Bill. “How come there's a pillar of crimson flame down there in the middle of that spaceport?”
“Complimentary ionized starship hull cleaning service!”
“We're going to cook!”
“Also kills any space bacteria hanging onto the fins. Asteroid barnacles and such. Don't worry, Bill. It's
Similar Books
