"Harrison, Harry - Bill, the Galactic Hero 6 - on the Planet of The Hippies From Hell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

"Hey, bub," growled a bass voice from the cloak room. "Where da hell do ya thinks youse guys are goin', dressed like that?"
"Gee," said Elliot brightly. "Why, we're going into the bar and have a nice cold beer!"
"We got money!" said Bill, already tasting the future. "Don't worry."
"Dat's okay, bub. I knows ya do. But cha can't go in there with dose duds on. 'Gainst house dress rules. C'mere, and maybe I can help you out."
As Bill's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he was astounded to see that the guy leaning over the top of the half-door - a beefy bozo with crewcut hair and a cigar sticking out of the side of a scarred and ugly face any Trooper DI would be proud to wear (and usually did) - was wearing a low-cut magenta chiffon ballroom dress, dark thick chest hair spilling indelicately over the bodice.
"Pretty nice, huh?" said the man proudly, seeing that Bill was ogling his threads. "I got it on sale at Bloomers!"
"Gee - yeah!" said Elliot. "Real nice! But what's wrong with what we've got on now?"
"Nothin'. You just ain't wearing it inside Uncle Nancy's. You want to drink at Uncle Nancy's Cross-Dressing Emporium, you gotta wear a nice dress. House rules. Love it or shove it. Youse got a problem with that?"
Bill was aghast. "No way am I going to put on a woman's dress! Not for nothing or for nobody!" But then, even as he spoke, the seductive smell of brewed hops wafted through the door cracks.

"Actually, Bill, it's really rather becoming. Quite fetching in fact."
"Shut up," Bill suggested.
"No, really and truly. You look good in green. And the material's clearly top quality, and I like the cut. Maybe the Troopers should think about using ballroom frocks for formal occasions."
"What, like formal latrine cleaning? Formal KP? I'm beginning not to like this."
Bill was feeling quite uncomfortable. He'd practically lived in his Trooper jumpsuit, sleeping in it, even taking baths in it. Now that he was out of it and into the long green dinner dress, he felt strange. It was strange having turgid bar air moving up his hairy legs, to his Trooper BVDs. He felt positively naked. Thank heavens the joker in the cloakroom had let them keep their weapons. ("No problem with the guns, buster. Man's gotta have his gun. But your pants gotta stay here with me.")
Elliot wore a cute silver lamй costume with a plunging neckline and no back, with a broad black belt and black pumps to match. Elliot was all smiles, seeming to actually be enjoying himself, though he did seem to have a little trouble navigating in the pumps. Bill was just grateful the guy with the cigar let him keep his Trooper boots ("Just as long as the dress is floor-length, Mack, we don't care what kind of canal boats you got on your feet.")
Uncle Nancy's Cross-Dressing Bar itself was everything that Bill dreamed it would be. It was all wood and decorated mirrors, with paintings of nude women on the walls. Low lights. A fireplace. Well-padded furniture. Nice red rug. And the bar stretched forever, a gorgeous mahogany wonder with sleek feminine lines, polished to a high gloss. The back shelves were packed with bottles of spirits. And there was a bewildering array of taps, all differently shaped and colored: beer and ale, pulque and cider! All clothed in the soft alcoholic glow, the scent of many pleasantly imbibed brews and briefly bolted shots.
In short, it was Bill's idea of heaven.
The strange thing, of course, was that it was filled with men wearing dresses. Culottes and miniskirts and long flowing dresses. Different colors and shapes and sizes of dresses from different historical eras. The men in the dresses, despite how odd they looked, behaved much as men in lumberjack outfits or military outfits or civilian outfits might. They were talking and laughing and slapping each other on the back, all in good macho spirit and convivial ranges of drunkenness as they downed their drinks. For Bill, though, it was awfully difficult to ignore the fact that they all wore dresses. It was even more difficult for Bill to ignore the fact that he wore a dress.
A couple of empty bar stools sang their siren song. Bill gestured toward them. "Glrrk. I really need a drink now."
"Gee, sure Bill!" said Elliot. "On me!"
They sat by a guy in a nice gingham getup, who said nothing.
"Now, run this by me again, Bill," said Elliot. This is supposed to be the place where the Time Distortion Nexus is?"
"That's right," said Bill. "I'll consult the computer AI again on the details. And we'll figure what we have to do then. But right now, mind if we just have a few drinks, shoot the breeze with the locals and get the lay of the land, so, to speak?"
"Gee - sure Bill. I do confess that I could use a bit of a libation myself. That shuttle down was a little hard even for a guy who's used to Gs!"
They settled down onto the comfortable stools and leaned against the bar. Bill savored the glossy texture of the bar. Yes, a guy could get lost here. Especially with the aid of one of these tankards of drink. For sure enough, all of the men were drinking out of Brobdignagian beer steins, their faces and noses pleasantly coated with beer foam.
Eagerly, Bill held up a finger for service.
A bartender instantly appeared to take their order. "And how can I be of service to you gentlemen?"
Bill opened his mouth to order, but nothing came out. He realized that he was so excited about getting a drink of genuine Barworld booze that he was absolutely flummoxed about what brand to order first. There were absolutely so many to choose from.
"Ahh ... Ahhh ... Ahhhh..."
The bartender was round-face, red-nosed, round-bellied as well - with a beard and tresses and a beautiful red dress with flounces. His entire aspect gleamed with conviviality. "Ah yes. A first-timer. This happens often." He turned to Elliot. "I assume this is your friend's first time on Barworld."
"How did you know?" said Elliot.
"First-Timer's Syndrome. Common problem. Now then, what do you think your friend would like - and by the way, those dresses you're wearing look absolutely smashing." The bartender cast a glance back at the panoply of available potables. "Hmmm. What have we got here? How about some nice wine, straight from the vats of Vinworld, newly stomped by Feet Critters and then fermented in Uncle Nancy's own special casks?"
"Ergghh," said Bill, shaking his head no adamantly. "Ergghhh!"
"Ah! Perhaps some of our spirits! We've a very nice price on Bourbon today, so smoothly sweet that it bring tears of pure pleasure!"
"Gee - no," said Elliot. "I think what my friend and I would really like are two of those mammoth glasses of draught beer.... But you have so many brands!"
Bill nodded his head up and down, gasping. Almost choking on his own anticipatory saliva.
"Oh dear, your friend has Drool Syndrome. A common phenomenon for all of us thirsty folk here on Barworld. Beer, then. Not ale, not cider..." The man glanced speculatively along the row of dozens of possibilities. "Bitter would you like? Or perhaps some cold lager."
"I guess Bill would like something that tastes good. Working for the Emperor, we don't get much of that."
"Ah! I know! Today's Second Best Bitter! Strange Old Blackheart!" The barkeep grabbed a couple of the huge glasses.
"Er - Second Best? Why not the Best?"
"Because, sadly, Old Very Strange and Peculier is all sold out, I'm afraid. But really, they're all excellent. Best Bitter is just a term hereabouts." He'd already started a tap, and dark foamy stuff was pouring out of spigots like nobody's business, quickly filling up the gallon glass. He started topping up the other one. "I'm sure this will hit your friend's spot." He hefted the large glass in front of Bill.
Bill picked it up and drank. He drank and drank and drank, and when he had to pause for breath, only a small portion of the liquid was gone! He drank some more and then had to put the glass down and give himself a break from so much incredible pleasure.
Gustatory orgasm!
Oh sheaves of hops and wheat, pure tasty water, artificially blended and formulaically fermented to tickle the taste buds! Bill experienced waves of wistful visions, a warmth flowing through him like the kiss of an ever faithful lover. Ah, sublime bliss. This was the very breath of tasty poetry!
Bill wiped his mouth on his sleeve and belched daintily.
"Yow! That's incredible!" he gasped.
"And so we observe the Satisfaction Syndrome," said the barkeep, putting Elliot's glass in front of him. Elliot tasted the stuff and agreed that it was truly wonderful.
Bill's next impulse was to drink more, but something stopped him. After his eruction was satisfactorily completed, he was in such a convivial mood, he felt like communing with his fellow man! "I'm Bill. With two Ls. And this is my partner, Elliot! We're tourists!"
"Gee - that's right. Tourists!" said Elliot.