"Harry Harrison - Bill, The Galactic Hero" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

conscious after the volume of drugs and sonics that he had been plied with.
"Not the military type. My fondest ambition is to be of help in the best way I
can, in my chosen career as a Technical Fertilizer Operator, and I'm almost
finished with my correspondence course . . . "
"That's a crappy job for a bright lad like you," the sergeant said, while
clapping him on the arm to get a good feel of his biceps. Rock: He resisted the
impulse to pull Bill's lip down and take a quick peek at the condition of his
back teeth. Later. "Leave that kind of job to those that like it. No chance of
promotion. While a career in the troopers has no top. Why, Grand-Admiral
Pflunger came up through the rocket tubes, as they say, from, recruit trooper
to grandadmiral. How does that sound?"
"It sounds very nice for Mr. Pflunger, but I think fertilizer operating is
more fun. Gee-I'm feeling sleepy. I think I'll go lie down."
"Not before you've seen this, just as a favor to me of course," the sergeant


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said, cutting in front of him and pointing to a large book held open by a tiny
robot. "Clothes make the man, and most men would be ashamed to be seen in a
crummy-looking smock like that thing draped around you or wearing those broken
canal boats on their feet. Why look like that when you can look like this?"
Bill's eyes followed the thick finger to the color plate in the book where a
miracle of misapplied engineering caused his own face to appear on the
illustrated figure dressed in trooper red. The sergeant flipped the pages, and
on each plate the uniform was a little more gaudy, the rank higher. The last
one was that of a grand-admiral, and Bill blinked at his own face under the
plumed helmet, now with a touch of crow's-feet about the eyes and sporting a
handsome and grayshot mustache, but still undeniably his own.
"That's the way you will look," the sergeant murmured into his ear, "once you
have climbed the ladder of success. Would you like to try a uniform on? Of
course you would like to try a uniform on. Tailorl"
When Bill opened his mouth to protest the sergeant put a large cigar into it,
and before he could get it out the robot tailor had rolled up, swept a
curtain-bearing arm about him and stripped him naked. "Hey! Hey!" he said.
"It won't hurt," the sergeant said, poking his great head through the curtain
and beaming at Bill's muscled form.. He poked a finger into a pectoral (rock),
then withdrew.
"Ouch!" Bill said, as the tailor extruded a cold pointer and jabbed him with
it, measuring his size. Something went chunk deep inside its tubular torso, and
a brilliant red jacket began to emerge from a slot in the front. In an instant
this was slipped onto Bill and the shining golden buttons buttoned. Luxurious
gray moleskin trousers were pulled on next, then gleaming black knee-length
boots. Bill staggered a bit as the curtain was whipped away and a powered
full-length mirror rolled up.
"Oh, how the girls love a uniform," the sergeant said, "and I can't blame
them."
A memory of the vision of Inga-Maria Calyphigia's matched white moons
obscured Bill's sight for a moment, and when it had cleared he found he was