Bill 3 - on the Planet of Bottled Brains Read Free

“But it is against the rules of war, that is what the commy lefty papers say, and our bleeding heart candidates in the up and coming local elections wouldn't like it. They need to have it all legal. Declaration of war and all that nonsense. As soon as they are not elected we go back to doing just what the hell we want, but for the moment our hands are tied. Our missiles in the silos. Our noses in our glasses drowning our sorrows.”
    “Well...” Bill thought for a while. “Why not declare war on them?”
    The officers nodded at each other in approval. “You've got the right instincts, trooper. But not until after the elections. Then we can bomb the mothers into the next dimension. But until that happens we have to give some illusion of lawfulness. But the trouble is that we can't even find anyone to talk to on Tsuris. In fact, we're not entirely sure there's anyone there.”
    “Then the answer is plain,” the colonel said. “I'm sure you thought of it yourself. If we can get a drone scout ship down to the surface of the planet, with someone aboard carrying a message from the Admiral-in-Chief, at least we could get the Tsurisians talking. Then we could make demands which they'd refuse. And then we'd have a chance to plead 'irreparable insult demanding unctuous apology' as a cause of war.”
    “Unless the Tsurisians are able to apologize fast enough to forestall the invasion,” the colonel said.
    “Speed is everything in modern warfare,” the major pointed out. “What do you think, Bill?”
    “Sounds like a good plan to me,” Bill said. “Now, if you could direct me to the Medical section...”
    “No time for that now, trooper,” the major said. “We want to congratulate you, then explain how your drone ship works.”
    “Wait a minute,” Bill said. “What has this got to do with me?”
    “My dear fellow,” the major said, “by walking through this door you have volunteered for the job of going on the drone ship to Tsuris.”
    “But I didn't know! The computer told me to come here!”
    “That's right. The computer volunteered you.”
    “Can it do that?”
    The major scratched his head. “I don't know, really. Why don't you ask it?” He chuckled evilly as Bill tried to leap woozily to his feet and felt the automatic shackles lock hard around his ankles.
    Brownnose looked terrible. It was true that he had been through a lot recently, having had all of his buddies beating him up because he was so helpful and considerate of others, and that is not the troopers' way. The first lesson a real trooper learns is that it is always Bowb-your-Buddy week. The military psychiatrist had diagnosed him as having a severe case of the Shmidas Touch, the mirror opposite of the Midas Touch where everything you touch turns to gold. But one of the psychiatrist's colleagues, Major Doctor Smellenfuss, disagreed. He said that Brownnose presented a classical case of Loser Psychosis, complicated by self-destructive tendencies. All Brownnose knew was, life kept on getting worse for him. And all he wanted to do was make people happy!
    Take now, for example. Of course he didn't look good. What man could look good pushed back against the uncomfortably hot boiler in the laundry room where Bill, ham-like fist raised in the air, was threatening to take him apart?
    “Bill, wait!” Brownnose cried as Bill's eyes narrowed, preparatory to driving Brownnose's head through the half-inch mild steel of which the boiler was composed. “I did it for you!”
    Bill hesitated, fist poised for the killing blow. “How do you figure?”
    “Because volunteering you for this mission will bring you a medal, a sizeable bonus, a year's supply of VD pills and most important, an immediate honorable discharge!”
    “A discharge?”
    “Yes, Bill! You could go home!”
    Bill was visited by a wave of nostalgia as he thought of his home world, Phigerinadon, and how much he wanted to see it.
    “Are you sure?” he asked.
    “Of course I'm sure. Just go