"Harry Harrison & Robert Sheckley - Bill the Galactic Hero 3 " - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

"So if everyone else does math, why should I have to?"
Illyria sighed and did not reply. The doctors came in next morning. There were three of them. They wore
shapes different from the other ones. Bill learned that this was common on Tsuris.
"But how come you have so many different shapes?" Bill asked.
"The one thing that has always been lacking on our planet," a doctor tells him, "is the normal function of
birth and death. When our world came into existence, all of the intelligences were already here, in the
form of water droplets inside large purplish clouds. It took a very long time before any physical forms
came about here. Even then, they came from off planet. An expedition from some other world. We were
able, with our superior intelligences, at least in regard to devices for taking things over, to incorporate
them. Thus our life on Tsuris got a Physical basis. Unfortunately, none of us was able to have children,
though I can assure you, the men tried every bit as hard as the women. The results? Zilch. Therefore we're
always on the lookout for likely bits of protoplasm in which we can house unborn members of our race."
"I hear what you're saying," Bill said, "and I don't think I like it."
"There's nothing personal about it," the doctor said.
"Nothing personal about what?" Bill asked, fearing the worst.


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 Bill, the Galactic Hero on the Planet of Bottled Brains

"Nothing personal about our decision to make use of your body. Assuming you fail the intelligence test,
that is."
"You're going a little too fast for me," Bill said. "What intelligence test?"
"Didn't Illyria mention it to you? We require of all visitors to our planet to take an intelligence test. Those
who fail get reused."
Bill saw that he had been correct to fear the worst. Even now, before he knew what the worst was,
exactly, he could see that it was going to be a bad sort of worst.
"What's the intelligence test?" he asked.
"Just a few simple questions."
The doctor then rattled off a sentence which Bill didn't understand even when it was translated into
English for him by his translator. The sentence contained words like "cosine" and "square root of minus
one" and "log log" and "sigma" and "rhomboid" and other words that Bill didn't even recognize as
English. Temporizing, he asked if he could have the thing written out.
The next question involved imaginary numbers, transfinite numbers, Kantor's number, and several other
numbers, all applied to something called lobachevskian geometry. Bill failed this one too. He fared no
better on any of the other questions.
"Well, old chap," the doctor said, "no offense, but the results of our tests show that you have an
intelligence so minuscule as to not even show on our charts."
"It's just math," Bill said, "I was never able to do math. But you could quiz me on geography, for
example, or history —"
"Sorry," the doctor said, "the only test we use is the mathematical one. So much more precise, you
know."
"Yes, I know," Bill groaned. "No, wait a minute! I'm just as smart as anybody here! Maybe smarter —
and I got medals to prove it. I'm a hero, a galactic hero awarded the highest awards awardable by the
military. I just don't happen to be from a race that does math in its head. Most of us don't, that is."
"I really am sorry," the doctor said. "And also, PS, we are not so keen on military awards. You are a fairly
amiable, albeit stupid, sentient being, and so keen at times is the expression on your face that one could
almost believe you understand what is being said to you. Too bad. It's the protoplasm vat for you, my
lad."
"What happens there?" Bill moaned.