Bill 2 - on the Planet of Robot Slaves Read Online Free PDF

glug. Captain Bly groped through the pockets of his crumpled uniform until he found the butt of an H-joint which he lit. Bill sniffed his exhaust fumes appreciatively but decided against asking for a drag. Instead he went to look out of the viewport at this newfound planet, but all he could see was garbage.
    Praktis grimaced as he drained the warm beer from the bottle, then whistled wetly. When Bill looked around he flipped the bottle to him.
    “Put this outside with the rest of the rubbish, chicken-foot. And while you are out there sort of have a look-see and let me know what it looks like.”
    “Are you requesting me to make a reconnaissance and report back?”
    “Yes, if that's what you want to call it in your rotten Trooperese. I'm a doctor first and an admiral by accident. So just get on with it.”
    The dim glow of the emergency light did not penetrate down the ladderway. Bill clicked his heels together to turn on his toe-torch, then climbed down the rungs in the light of his glowing boot. Since there was no power the spacelock would not open when he thumbed the switch. He turned the sticky manual wheel and groaned with the effort. When the inner door had opened about a foot he squeezed through the gap and into the chamber of the lock. A bright beam of sunlight shone through the armorglass window in the outer door. He pressed his eye to it, curious and eager for a glimpse of this alien world. All he saw was garbage.
    “Great,” he muttered and reached for the wheel beside. Then stopped.
    What was lurking beyond the outer door? What alien terrors had the future in store for him? What sort of atmosphere was out there — if there was any atmosphere at all? If he opened the lock he might be dead in an instant. Yet it had to be done sooner or later. There was not much of a future doing nothing, staying locked up in this crumpled garbage can along with its obnoxious captain and the quack admiral.
    “Do it, Bill, do it,” he muttered to himself. “You only die once.”
    Sighing unhappily, he turned the wheel.
    And stopped when the door cracked open and began to hiss loudly.
    But it was only the pressure equalizing, he realized, heart thudding like a triphammer in sudden panic. Wiping the beads of sweat from his brow, he leaned over and sniffed at the draft of air that blew into his face. It was hot and dry — and smelled more than a little of garbage — but he was still alive. After that, feeling very proud of himself and forgetting his animal panic, he kept turning until the door opened wide. Sunlight lanced in brightly and there was a brittle crackling sound. He leaned out to look — turned and went quickly back into the bowels of the ship. Praktis looked down the ladderwell at him as he ran by.
    “Where are you going?”
    “To get my barracks bag.”
    “Why? What's outside?”
    “Desert. Just a lot of garbage and sand and nothing else in sight. No dragons, no nothing.”
    Praktis blinked rapidly. “Then just why the hell are you getting your barracks bag, Trooper?”
    “I'm getting out of here. The garbage is on fire.”
    Praktis's scream of pain and shouted commands followed Bill when, equipped with barracks bag, he bailed out through the open door. He did not stop nor even bother to look back. The lesson with the greatest value that he had learned during his years in the troopers was a simple one: cover your ass. He only stopped when he was clear of the tug, threw down his bag and, breathing heavily, sat on a sand dune. Nodding appreciatively, he watched the evacuation of the tug with great interest.
    Pained screams and a great deal of shouting and pounding came from the open lock. In a few moments a box of supplies thudded into the sand, to be followed closely by more containers and crates. Since his own survival was at stake he went to help, dragging them clear and going back for more. The flames crackled and grew close. He pulled one more crate to safety then shouted into the ship.
    “Anyone getting