Early in the morning, Bill was awakened not by a bugler's recorded signal, but by an ultrasound transmitted through the metal frame of his bunk, which shook him with such force that the fillings in his teeth began to loosen. Bill jumped up and immediately shivered from the cold. It was summer time, and therefore the floor in the barracks was artificially cooled: in the camp named after Leon Trotsky it was not customary to be almond-free. One after another, pale, frozen recruits jumped out of the neighboring beds. The soul-sapping vibration stopped. The recruits hastily pulled off their everyday uniforms, made of sackcloth like sandpaper, from the headboards of their beds, put their feet into heavy red recruit boots and trudged towards the exit.
- I'm here to break your spirit! - someone's fierce voice thundered.
At the sight of the main demon of this hell, the recruits began to shake even more.
Chief Petty Officer Smertvich Drang was a master of his craft, from the tips of his viciously spiky hair to the corrugated soles of his boots, shining like a mirror. Broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, long arms dangling below the knees, like some creepy anthropoid, the knuckles of his fists crushed by thousands of knocked out teeth - looking at this image, it was impossible to believe that he was born from a tender woman’s womb. He could not have been born - such a thing could only have been made by special order of the government. The worst thing was the head. And the face!.. A narrow strip, the width of a finger, separated the hair from the shaggy black eyebrows, hanging in thick thickets over the dark gaps in which the eyes were hidden - not eyes, but ominous red flashes in the utter hellish darkness. A broken, crushed nose crawled right onto the mouth, gaping like a knife wound on the ripped open belly of a corpse, and two-inch white wolf fangs protruded from under the upper lip, making deep grooves in the lower lip.
“I am Chief Petty Officer Deathwitch Drang, and you must call me “sir” and “my lord.” - Drang walked gloomily along the line of shaking recruits. “Now I am your father and mother, your entire universe and your eternal enemy, and very soon I will make you regret that you were even born into the world.” I will break your will! And if I call you toads, you will immediately have to croak! My task is to turn you into soldiers, to hammer discipline into you. Unquestioning submission, no free will, absolute obedience - that's what I demand from you...
He stopped in front of Bill, who was shaking a little less than the others, and
snarled angrily:
- What a disgusting face... A month of dressing up in the kitchen on Sundays!
- Sir...
- And another month for arguing.
Bill said nothing. He had already learned the first soldier's commandment: keep your mouth shut.
locked.
Smertvich moved on.
- Who you are this moment? Flabby, stinking civilian meat of the lowest grade. I will make real muscles out of it, I will turn your will into jelly, and your brain into a machine. Either you become real soldiers, or I will finish you off. You'll hear a lot more about me different stories, like how I killed and ate a recruit who refused to follow orders.
He stopped and glared at them. The upper lip, like a coffin lid, slowly crept upward in an evil parody of a grin, and drops of saliva hung on the tips of the fangs.
- And this story - pure truth!
A groan passed through the ranks of the recruits, they shook as if under icy gusts of wind. The smile disappeared from Drang's face.
- You’ll go eat after volunteers are found for easy work. Who can drive a heliocar?
The two recruits raised their hands hopefully, and he motioned them forward.
- Wonderful! Rags and buckets outside the door. You will clean the toilet while the others are having breakfast. Work up an appetite for lunch.
Bill learned the second soldier's commandment: don't volunteer.
However, he did not want to publish it. For the first time in an abbreviated form called “ Star pickers"(English: The Starsloggers) the work was published in December 1964 in Galaxy Science Fiction, of which Frederick Paul was the editor at the time. Almost at the same time, the novel was published in several issues of Michael Moorcock's magazine New Worlds. It was published as a separate book in 1965 by Doubleday.
Encyclopedic YouTube
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Harrison Harry Steel Rat
Loafer Bill (1.1)
Harrison Harry Birth of the Steel Rat
Subtitles
Plot description
Country boy Bill from the farming planet Figerinadon-2 falls for the bait of a recruiter and ends up in the ranks of the space landing force. After going through a mocking drill in the camp named after Leon Trotsky, the recruits get on board the ship Fanny Hill, where Bill becomes a loader and during one of the battles he accidentally gets into the conning tower and involuntarily knocks out an enemy ship. He is presented for a reward, which should be presented by the emperor himself on the capital planet Helior.
After the award, Bill goes on an excursion to the imperial gardens, where he falls asleep and becomes a victim of a thief who stole his Plan, without which it is impossible to navigate the huge planet-city. Bill manages to get to the Army Transit Center, but is mistaken for a spy. Fleeing, he reaches the lower levels, where he joins a gang of thieves. However, after the first raid on the sausage pipeline, the police catch everyone. Bill reaches the very bottom, where the soil of Helior opens to his shocked gaze. He is picked up by an inspector from the Sanitary Department and hired. Employees of the department are using incredible tricks to try to get rid of millions of tons of disposable tableware, and Bill comes to the court, putting forward fresh ideas.
Revolutionary H. comes to him. Bill rejects the offer to join the party of conspirators, but after GBI agent Pinkerton threatens to shoot him for aiding the enemy, he is forced to join the revolutionaries. H. organizes an attack on the power plant. Bill fulfills Pinkerton's conditions and meets the entire party of conspirators in an ambush; every single one of them worked for the GBR. X, who found himself alone, was shot on the spot. The ruthless Pinkerton turns Bill over to the police as a deserter. Using his hidden capital, Bill hires a clever lawyer who, using the precedent case of Private Lowenig, who hid for 14 months in a barracks attic during the war, saves Bill from death penalty. However, the chairman decides that Bill slept on duty during his service and sentences him to a year and one day in prison.
IN transit prison Bill meets the "eternal soldier" clerk Blackie, who claims to have been serving since prehistoric times. Blackie arranges for himself and Bill to be transferred to a planet with comfortable service conditions, but due to a mistake, the latter ends up on the swamp planet Veniole, where heavy battles with the aborigines are taking place. During one of the skirmishes, Bill escapes into the jungle, where he frees his captive comrades. He then shoots off his own foot so that he can be evacuated from Veniola. Many years later, having turned into an elderly recruiting sergeant, he ends up on his home planet and tricks his younger brother into recruiting him into the army.
Sequels
Following the novel's release, six sequels were published between 1989 and 1992. The first of these, "Bill, Hero of the Galaxy, on the Planet of Robot Slaves", was written by Garrison himself. Further sequels were written by other authors and edited by Garrison:
- "Bill, Hero of the Galaxy, on the Planet of Bottled Brains" (1990) - Robert Sheckley
- "Bill, Hero of the Galaxy, on the Planet of Unknown Delights" (1991) - David Bischoff
- "Bill, Hero of the Galaxy, on the Planet of the Zombie Vampires" (1991) - Jack Haldeman
- Bill, Galactic Hero on the Planet of Ten Thousand Bars (1991) - David Bischoff and Harry Garrison. Also published under the title - "Bill, Hero of the Galaxy, on the Planet of the Hippies from Hell"
- Bill the Galaxy's Last Adventure (1991) - David Harris and Harry Garrison
Garrison expressed his disappointment in an interview with Brian Ireland on Ireland Online :
“In the US there is a thing called sharecropping, where you have a series because of a character and you have other writers to work with it... I never wanted to do that, I’m not interested. But one of the program writers said, going back to what I said about violent pornography: Harry, why don't we do an episode of "Bill the Galactic Hero" and thereby do a little anti-war propaganda instead of being all pro-war. So they finally convinced me of this. I wrote the second part - “Bill - the hero of the Galaxy on the planet of robot slaves”; there was a little satire there. If only they could all be like this. But no, no. We've all made mistakes. I'm a professional writer. This is how I earn my living. That's the only thing I did wrong."
Garrison's story "Bill, Hero of the Galaxy, Takes His First Vacation" first appeared in Galactic Dreams (1994).
Plot elements
- Drunk engine(Bloater Drive)
Reviews
A Vietnam veteran describes the novel as the only true book about the military.
Links
- “Bill the Hero of the Galaxy” on the “Fiction Laboratory” website
- Cycle “Bill - Hero of the Galaxy” in “Fiction Lab”
Notes
| Series " | |
|---|---|
The first novel in the series was started by Harry Harrison in Denmark in 1959 as an experimental story. It was planned as a comic book series and radio drama. The first chapter and sketches for the novel, titled If You Can Read This You're Too Damn Close, were submitted to Damon Knight for review. He liked the idea, and Harry Garrison was given an advance of $1,500 to finish the novel.
The first novel in the Bill, Hero of the Galaxy series. the Galactic Hero (1965) is a masterpiece of satirical fiction. Garrison, who hates war and the military, wrote it as a kind of parody answer to Robert Heinlein's openly militaristic Starship Troopers. It should be noted that for American young readers of that time it was very likely that they would be sent to the Vietnam War, so the story of the misadventures of the hapless “eternal Landsknecht” in a world where everyone fights against everyone else was very relevant. Later, Harrison spoke with pleasure of how, at one of the meetings, the young father told him that after reading “Bill” he refused to join the army. This recognition was the best reward for the writer.
After the success of the first novel, Garrison wrote a sequel, some of which were co-authored with other science fiction writers. In total, the series about Bill includes novels:
The main character of the series is a simple peasant guy, Bill, who by the will of fate was thrown into the imperial space infantry. The story follows his journey in the army: training, fighting, and finally he accidentally becomes the man whom the entire inhabited cosmos knows as Bill, the Hero of the Galaxy. But as a result, it turns out that Bill is a cynical, “gray” officer whose goal is to survive recruitment and leave the army. The many adventures of the long-suffering Bill are described in an ironic manner. The series about Bill can rightfully be called anti-science fiction. Soldiers imperial army armed with atomic (!) guns, and on one of his forced trips Bill goes on a plastic (!) spaceship. However, what else can you expect from a fantastic satire if not a magnificent grotesque? In one episode, Bill becomes a garbage service employee in the imperial capital. Here an astonishing discovery awaits us: it turns out that the fate of the planet depends not on the emperor, the government or the police, but on... the garbage service. “Where should I put the garbage?” - the unfortunate scavengers rack their brains and show miracles of ingenuity: they send it out by mail, occupy residential areas with it, and even throw it to neighboring stars (which ultimately almost leads to the death of the planet). The main goal Bill's desire is simply to survive. And he succeeds.
- Bill, the Galactic Hero (1965)
- Bill, the Galactic Hero: On the Planet of the Robot Slaves (1989)
- Bill, the Galactic Hero: On the Planet of Bottled Brains (1990), co-written with Robert Sheckley
- Bill, the Galactic Hero: On the Planet of Tasteless Pleasure (1991), co-written with David Bischoff
- Bill, the Galactic Hero: On the Planet of Zombie Vampires (1991), co-written with Jack Haldeman II
- Bill, the Galactic Hero: On the Planet of Ten Thousand Bars (1991), co-written with David Bischoff
- Bill, the Galactic Hero: The Final Incoherent Adventure! (1992), co-written with David Harris
- "Bill, the Galactic Hero's Happy Holidays" (1994).
He stopped in front of Bill, who was trembling a little less than the others, and puffed up angrily:
- What a disgusting face... A month of dressing up in the kitchen on Sundays!
- Sir...
- And another month for arguing.
Bill said nothing. He had already learned the first soldier's commandment: keep your mouth shut.
A groan passed through the ranks of the recruits, they shook as if under icy gusts of wind. The smile disappeared from Drang's face.
- You will go eat after volunteers are found for light work. Who can drive a heliocar?
The two recruits raised their hands hopefully, and he motioned them forward.
- Wonderful! Rags and buckets outside the door. You will clean the toilet while the others are having breakfast. Work up an appetite for lunch.
Bill learned the second soldier's commandment: don't volunteer.
Bill squeezed through a weak force field, cleverly designed so that the midge could freely enter the barracks, but could not fly back out.
Then the orchestra started playing again, the recruits went to their barracks in formation, changed into their hair shirts and briskly We went to the shooting range to shoot from atomic rifles at plastic mock-ups of Chingers that were popping out of underground crevices. They shot sluggishly until Smertwitch Drang poked his head out of one of the cracks. Here all the shooters switched to automatic fire, and each one hit him with a whole clip without missing, which, of course, was a record for accuracy. But the smoke cleared - and the jubilant screams of the soldiers were replaced by cries of despair when they realized that they had smashed to pieces only a plastic copy, the original of which appeared from behind and, clicking its heels, rolled them into a month of outfits out of turn.
The human body is an amazing thing because until it dies, it lives.
Before the Leon Trotsky camp appeared nearby, it was a typical small center of an agricultural district, and even now, periodically, when the soldiers were not released on leave, the town continued to follow its initial agrarian inclinations. The rest of the time, barns and warehouses with fodder were closed, but the doors of brothels and bars were open. However, usually the same premises successfully performed different functions. As soon as the first batch of vacationers tumbled out of the station with a roar, a mechanism was immediately put into action, turning grain bins into beds, and sellers into pimps; The cashiers, however, remained at their jobs, but prices soared, and the counters sagged under the weight of the glasses. Bill and his friends ended up in one of these establishments - half saloon, half funeral home.
- What should we drink, guys? - the ever-smiling owner of the Last Rest bar stood up to meet them.
“Double formaldehyde, please,” answered Scott Brown.
- Don't be a bully! - said the owner, removing the smile from his face and taking out a bottle on which, from under the bright label “Real Whiskey,” the engraving “Formaldehyde” was visible. - If you act outrageously, it won’t take long to call the military police. - As soon as the coins began to clatter on the counter, the smile returned to its place. - Enjoy your health!
They sat around a long, narrow table with brass handles on each side and gave in to the bliss of feeling the blessed flow of alcohol wash down their dust-choked throats.
Refuse demobilization! - Bill repeated with awe.
- Listen, isn’t he crazy? - said Worker. “There probably can’t be any other explanation.”
- It’s impossible to be crazy to that extent. Look, I wonder what this is? - Bill pointed to the door with the inscription " Unauthorized entry is strictly prohibited."
- Damn... I don’t know... maybe food?
At the same moment they found themselves behind the door and closed it tightly behind them. However, there was no smell of food there. They stood in a long room with steep
Let’s go into battle,” Tembo said, sniffing his breakfast cup. - Stimulants, substances that suppress pain sensitivity, saltpeter and antibiotics have been added to the food.
- And patriotic music for this occasion too? - Bill responded, trying to drown out the roar of trumpets and the roar of drums spewed out by the speakers. Tembo nodded.
The soldiers huddled around the bed, watching as the doctor disconnected the wires and unwrapped the bandages.
- How's my hand, Doc? - the hero suddenly became worried.
- Burnt like a cutlet. I had to amputate.
- And what's that? - Bill squealed in horror.
- I cut off this hand from the corpse. After the battle there were plenty of them. About forty-two percent of the crew was lost. I swear all I did was saw, chop and stitch.
The last bandage fell to the floor, and the soldiers gasped in delight.
- Look, what a gorgeous paw!
- Come on, move your fingers!
- Damn neat seam on the shoulder - look how even the stitches are.
- She’s so muscular, hefty and long, she’s not at all like that short one on the right.
- And what a black one! This is the color!
- This is Tembo's hand! - Bill started screaming. - Take her back!
He rushed out of bed, but the hand trailed behind him. They forced him onto the pillows.
- You're so lucky, dumbass! I received such paws, and even from a friend!
- He would be delighted if he knew that you got it!
- Now you will forever have a memory of him! The hand was really good. Bill bent it and wiggled his fingers, looking at them in disbelief. The brush worked fine. He reached out and grabbed one of the soldiers by the arm. His bones crunched, he screamed in pain and backed away. Bill looked carefully at his a new hand and suddenly began to spew curses at the doctor:
- Cretin, damned chiropractor! Clystyre plug! Good job - that's it right hand!
- Well, right! And what?
- So you cut off my left one! Now I have two right hands!
- Listen! There were not enough leftists. I'm not a wizard! I did everything I could for you, and you’re still cursing! Be glad that I didn’t spandor your leg instead. - He grinned evilly. - Or something else...
“Nice hand, Bill,” said the soldier, rubbing his injured hand. - You're very lucky. If you can salute with any hand, no one else can do it.
“That’s right,” Bill said modestly, “it just didn’t occur to me.” Lucky indeed.
Isn't our Old Man too young for his post? - Bill asked when the retinue with the captain left.
- What you! He is even older than many. - The doctor was rummaging through a pile of injection needles, looking for the dullest one. - Remember, only a real aristocrat can become a captain, but even our numerous aristocracy is not enough for such a vast galactic Empire. You have to be content with what you have. - The doctor chose the most bent needle and inserted the syringe.
The door closed. Bill was lying in all alone, looking at the bare wall and his prospects. So he's a 1st class loader, which is good. But forced service life extension is less pleasant. His mood dropped. He wanted to chat with his friends, but then he remembered that they had all died, and his mood dropped even more. Bill tried to find something more cheerful to think about, but he couldn't think of anything until he discovered that he could shake his own Hand. This discovery cheered him up somewhat.
He leaned back on the pillow and shook hands with himself until he fell asleep.
The infantry sergeant was a complete lone drunkard and did not waste time on trifles. Moreover, he was not at all a supporter of diluted alcohol and was not going to waste money on beautiful labels. He used all his cash to bribe the orderly, who got him two bottles of pure 99 percent ethyl alcohol, a box of glucose, saline solution, a syringe needle and a piece of rubber tubing. On a shelf suspended above the sergeant's bunk stood a braided bottle from which the mixture flowed through a tube into a needle stuck into the arm of the inventive drunkard and entered the body in the form of a continuous intravenous infusion. The sergeant lay motionless on the bed, completely drunk and provided with a snack, and if he had not been disturbed, he would have lain in this state for another couple of years until the magical source dried up.
“Well, now go ahead and look for a way back to your hole,” Basurero grumbled. - Don't you see, I'm busy. - With a trembling hand, he poured another portion of “Real Aged Poison” into the glass and drained it in one gulp.
- You can forget about your troubles...
- What do you think I’m doing if not trying to forget about them! Well, get out!
- Okay, but first I'll show you something. This new way getting rid of plastic trays.
Basurero jumped to his feet, not paying attention to the bottle that had fallen to the floor, the contents of which immediately began to eat a hole in the Teflon coating.
- Are you serious? You are sure? Do you really have a new solution?
- Sure!
“I really don’t want to do this, but I have to...” Basurero shuddered all over, took a jar from the shelf with the label “Sobering up - an instant remedy against intoxication. Do not take without a doctor’s prescription and prior life insurance.” He took out a spotted pill, the size of a nut, carefully examined it from all sides, shuddered again and finally swallowed it with visible effort. His whole body vibrated, he closed his eyes tightly, his stomach began to gurgle loudly, and a light smoke came out of his ears. Finally opening his eyes, red as a rabbit's, he looked at Bill completely with a sober look and croaked:
- So what's up?
(Conversation with a lawyer - Lexx note)
- Shall I tell you my version of events? - Bill asked.
- Of course not, since she has nothing to do with the charges. When you joined the army, you automatically lost all inalienable human rights. So they can do whatever they want to you. We can only hope that they themselves are prisoners of their own system and must obey a complex and contradictory code of laws that has evolved over many centuries. They want to shoot you for desertion, and it must be said that they have concocted an impenetrable deal.
- So, will they shoot me?
“It’s quite possible, but we have a chance and we have to take the risk.”
- We?.. Are you laying claim to half the bullets or what?
(And the trial that follows - Lexx note)
- Let's start! - the chairman, a bald and fat admiral of the fleet, said with solemnity appropriate to the occasion. - The court session is open, let justice be done, and let the criminal be found guilty and shot without delay.
Well, smart guy, now you are under my command, and you are unlikely to like it! - the sergeant growled at Bill, thrusting his huge jaw covered with scars forward. On the sergeant's shaved head, tiny, close-set eyes gleamed, in which an impenetrable dullness shone.
Bill squinted and slowly raised left-right hand, squeezing the biceps. Tembo's muscles bulged and tore his thin prison uniform with a crash. Bill then pointed his finger at the Purple Arrow ribbon on his chest.
- Do you know how I earned it? - he said dispassionately. “I killed thirteen Chingers holed up in the bunker with my bare hands. And I ended up here because, having killed the Chingers, I returned and killed the sergeant who sent me there. So you're saying I won't like it here, huh, Sergeant?
“What are you doing... Don’t touch me, and I won’t touch you,” the guard recoiled. - You go to cell thirteen, right up the stairs...
The sergeant fell silent and began to crunch his nails on all five of them at the same time. Bill gave him a long, appraising look, turned and entered the building.
This is how I live: every time I join the army anew and go with the flow.
Bill stood up and opened his mouth:
-Are you enlisting in the army again? Yes, this is suicide!
- Nothing like this! The safest place during war is the army. Fools at the front get their asses shot off, civilians in the rear get their asses ripped off with bombs, and we, who are in the middle, remain safe and sound. For one soldier on the front line there are 30-50, or even all 75 non-combatants. Learn to be a clerk - and live! Has anyone ever heard of a clerk being shot? And I am the greatest specialist in the clerical part. But this is during war, and in peacetime, when they mistakenly conclude a truce, the nicest thing is to serve in combat units. The food is better, there is more vacation, but there is absolutely nothing to do. But you travel a lot.
- What will you do when the war starts?
- I know 735 in various ways go to the hospital.
Attention, beginners! You are enlisted in Company B and will now head out into the swamps to finish the job started by the brats in Company A this morning. You'll have to work hard! I’m not going to appeal to your honor, conscience, or sense of duty... - Ferkel pulled out an atomic pistol and shot at the ceiling. Rain poured through the resulting hole. - I rely on your instinct of self-preservation, since anyone who plays the fool, shirks or shirks from work will receive a bullet in the forehead. Well, now - march!
The dead soldier was freed from the chain by cutting off his head. The two soldiers chained with Deathwitch were going to do the same to him. Bill entered into a discussion with them, explaining that humanity requires saving wounded comrades, and after he promised to shoot their legs off, they completely agreed with his arguments.
Bill - Hero of the Galaxy - 1
Book 1
Bill never understood that all this happened to him only because of lust. After all, if such a hot sun had not shone in the clear sky of Figuerinadon-2 that morning and if Bill had not accidentally spotted the sugar-white, barrel-shaped buttocks of Inga-Maria Kalifigia, who was bathing in the stream, the burning languor of the flesh would not have distracted If he had been away from plowing, he would have plowed the furrow all the way over the edge of the hill long before the mesmerizing sounds of music came from the road. Bill wouldn't have heard her, and all of him future life Everything would have turned out completely differently. But since they were playing somewhere nearby, he released the handles of the plow connected to the robomulus, turned around and opened his mouth in surprise.
The spectacle was truly fabulous. The parade was led by a twelve-foot-tall robot orchestra, stunning with its towering black shako, which concealed speakers. Gilded columns of legs solemnly carried him forward, and thirty jointed arms pulled the strings, sawed and pressed the keys of countless musical instruments. The fiery sounds of the march excited Bill, and his strong peasant feet, shod in rough boots, began to dance of their own accord when the glossy boots of the soldiers crashed along the road. The paratroopers walked with their chests puffed out bravely, medals rattled on their scarlet uniforms, and there was definitely no more beautiful sight in the world. The procession was closed by a sergeant, sparkling with copper and braid, thickly hung with medals and ribbons, with a broadsword and a carbine, with a belt on his stomach and with steely eyes. He cast a tenacious glance at Bill, who, leaning on the fence, gazed at all these miracles. The sergeant nodded his gray head, winked conspiratorially and twisted his mouth, like an iron trap, into a kind of friendly smile.
In the rearguard of the small army, a line of dusty auxiliary robots rolled, bouncing and slipping on potholes. When they clanged past, Bill clumsily fell over the fence and trotted after them. In their rural wilderness, interesting events happened no more than twice every four years, and he was by no means going to miss the event that promised to be the third in a row.
By the time Bill arrived at the market square, a crowd had already gathered there, attracted by the inspirational jazz concert. The robot dived headlong into the invigorating waves of the march "Space Marines Storm the Skies", fought through "The Rumble of Star Battles" and almost self-destructed in the frantic rhythms of "Sappers in the Trenches of Pithead". He became so enraged that his leg bounced off his body and flew into the air. The robot deftly picked it up in flight and continued to play, balancing on one leg and beating time with the severed limb. When the horns let out their last heart-rending scream, he pointed the piece of debris to the other side of the square, where, as if by magic, a three-dimensional cinema screen and a portable bar appeared. The soldiers, without hesitation, disappeared into the depths of the bar, and the recruiting sergeant was left alone, surrounded by robots, smiling from ear to ear.
- Get over here, guys! Free booze at the emperor's expense and amazing films with adventures in distant lands that will not allow you to fall asleep while you swig your swill! - he barked in an unusually loud, rasping voice.
Most - including Bill - accepted the invitation; only a few experienced, experienced men evaded conscription and furtively hid behind houses.
A robot with a tap instead of a belly button and an endless supply of plastic cups in one of its hips served soft drinks. Bill, sipping from his glass with pleasure, admired the breathtaking adventures of the space marines. The picture was in color, with noise effects and infrasound stimulators. There were battles, and death, and victories, although, of course, only the Chingers died: in the worst case, the soldiers got off with trivial scratches, which were immediately hidden under gauze bandages.
