Bill 06 Bill on the Planet of the Hippies From Hell by Harry Harrison

Author:Harry Harrison
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-01-16T00:00:00+00:00

greasy-paged book, the corks on his hat bobbling in the midst of a cloud of flies.

"And I suppose that's a collection of implorations to the gods!" said Elliot. "Don't you see the entire thing

is ridiculous? There are no gods! It looks as though your superstitious tribe are the victims of —"

"Stuff it, buster!" said Chief Thunder Bluster, "or I'll stuff a live prairie dog down your gob!"

The threat was enough to keep Elliot silenced effectively, and Bill as well. Particularly since the chief

waved over his prairie dog handler with a couple of fat specimens and shook them in their direction with

sinister intent.

"Bravo!" commented the medicine man, observing all this. He held up the book. Upon the leather jacket

was inscribed, SERVING BLOODTHIRSTY PAGAN GODS GOOD. "Actually, it's a recipe book! Let's

see ... Upchuckandpeck, the big god around here —"

"I thought it was Coaxialcoitus!" said Bill. "That's what you told us earlier."

"Oh yes ... so it is. There you go, mate. You see, you'll get a bit of education before you snuff it. Wrong

recipe." He paged around until he found the appropriate one. "Well, well, well. Looks as though the dread

and holy Coaxial is a man after my own heart — as well as after all the hearts of the sacrifices we rip out

around this place. He prefers his meals marinated in Foster's lager!"

Bill's ears perked up. "Beer?"

"That's right, mayte!" Buffalo Billabong put his fingers into his mouth and whistled. Immediately a whole

cartload of Foster's Lager cans were trundled in with great ceremony, dispatch and racket.

Bill's mouth started watering. He watched with unmoving attention as a pair of Indian braves opened a

pair of beer cans and then stepped forward, faces intent with seriousness, muttering strange ceremonial

words like "Schlitz", "Budweiser" and "Ole Frothingslosh, the Pale Stale Ale" under their breaths.

Perhaps these Indians, Bill thought, were not as savage as Elliot had originally thought.

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth expectantly.

Instead of pouring the beer into his mouth, however, the Indians poured it over his head. It ran down his

hair and ears, soaked into his shirt. At first he spluttered, then began to suck desperately at the runnels of

brew coming down his face, only managing to extract the odd tantalizing sip.

When the can was empty, Bill opened his eyes. "Say, you know, Buff, I think some inside marinating

would help!"

"Stop this nonsense! Get on with the lighting of the pyre," roared the chief. "Burn these idiots! The great

god grows impatient."

"No, no, wait..." said the medicine man. "Perhaps he's right, Chief. That's not a bad idea."

"Oh, if you must. After all, you are the medicine man around here and there is such a thing as protocol.

But be quick about it! You can't expect the gods to hang around all day waiting for a sacrifice."

Bill sighed happily. At least he'd get a drink or two before he had to face the flames. Still and all, it wasn't

exactly something he was looking forward to. He watched as the Indian braves pried open Elliot's mouth

and poured in a can of Foster's.

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