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

out better do it now or never.” Then jumped aside as the rats deserted the burning ship. After them came the crew, coughing and scrambling for safety away from the flames.
    Praktis was first, of course, since the commander always leads from the front. Particularly during a retreat. Cy was next, staggering under the weight of some electronic junk, followed closely by Wurber and Captain Bly. Followed by a stranger. Not only a stranger, Bill realized, but a strangerette. A female person with stripes on her arms.
    “Who...who...you?” Bill asked. She looked him up and down with scorn.
    “Knock off the owl imitation, bowbhead, and say ma'am when speaking to a superior officer. Report. Name, rank and condition.”
    “Yes, sir — ma'am. Trooper Bill, ma'am, draftee, hungover, tired.”
    “You look it. I'm Engine Mate First Class Tarsil. Put my suitcase with the rest of the stuff.”
    “As you command, Engine Mate First Class Tarsil.”
    “Since we are shipmates you can call me by my first name. Meta.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. “You got good biceps, Bill.”
    Bill smiled ingratiatingly as he grabbed up her suitcase. It was always best to keep on the good side of the noncoms. Especially female noncoms. Though, really, he didn't think she was his type. He liked big girls, but not those a head taller than him. And her biceps, he pouted with inferiority, were really much bigger than his.
    “Bill,” a familiar and loathed voice called out. “Stop fraternizing and claw your way up here.”
    Bill joined Admiral Praktis on the summit of the sand dune, looking out at the golden majesty of the setting sun. Which was really the only thing worth looking at since other than the sun, and the empty sky with one small cloud that vanished while they watched, there wasn't anything else.
    “Sand, and an awful lot of it,” Praktis said with an expression of deep gloom.
    “That's what deserts are like, sir,” Bill said brightly. Praktis turned a withering glare and scornful sneer upon him.
    “When I want that kind of bright Pollyanna bowb I will ask for it. Do you realize the kind of hole that we are in? There is myself and there is you, which is not saying very much. And what else? That dim recruit who was probably a dim civilian yesterday, the captain who is already stoned out of his mind, an electronic technician with no electronics — and that overweight oversexed crewmember who is going to cause trouble, bet on that. We got some food, some water — and little else. I have the intensely gloomy sensation that we are for the chopping block.”
    “I have a suggestion, sir?”
    “You do? Great! Speak quickly.”
    “Since you are in command and there is a war on — I want a battlefield commission.”
    “You want what?”
    “A commission as a third lieutenant. I am an experienced trooper with plenty of service-related know-how — in addition to which I am the only one here with these qualifications. You will need my combat-hardened skills and professional knowledge...”
    “Which I will not get unless you have some rank. All right bowb, not that it makes any difference. Kneel Recruit Bill. Rise Third Lieutenant Bill.”
    “Oh, thank you, sir. That makes all the difference,” Bill simpered. Praktis curled his lip with disgust while Bill dug the tarnished golden pips of a third lieutenant from his pocket and proudly pinned them to his epaulets.
    “It is said that every real soldier with guts or talent, or both, marches with a marshal's baton in his pack. My goal is simpler...”
    “Shut up. Take your mind off of your pathetic military ambitions and apply whatever intelligence you have, the existence of which I am growing doubtful about, to the problem at hand. What do we do?”
    His ambition fired by his newfound rank, Bill hurled himself in to the role with enthusiasm.
    “Sir! We will begin by taking inventory of our supplies, which will be guarded at all times and rationed equally among all. When this has