On The Planet Of The Hippies From Hell

by Harry Harrison

  "Whatever. Say, that was a pretty good job you guys did with those Time Nazis. You guys get free drinks all night!"

  Bgr was drinking suds with great enthusiasm out of a glass almost as big as he was. "Gee, thanks! Now all we have to do is to go back and stop the Human-Chinger war and everything will be hunky-dory!"

  "No way!" said Sir Dudley. "I've given up transporting people back and forth in time. No more changes! Those Time Nazis might come back if we do any more tinkering. Who knows. Maybe Hitler had more than one brain — and it's lurking somewhere out there in the galaxy!"

  The Time Portal shivered.

  "Oh well," said Bgr. "Gee — it was worth a try. Well, nice to drink with you guys, have a temporary truce anyway."

  They continued joking and chewing over their adventures together, while Bill sipped his lemonade, musing. The thing was, if life didn't mean bowb, and bowb was what you'd known all your life, then where did you go from there? This equation he had developed was all well and good, and it was nice to be super-intelligent. But what for?

  In fact, the more he thought about it, from the viewpoint of intelligence, the darker, more frightening and hideous this repellent universe became!

  Not only that, this intelligence was making him positively neurotic. At least when you were stupid you didn't worry about much. All Bill had worried about before was first staying alive, then perhaps where his next beer was coming from.

  A truly eloquent, simple life indeed.

  Suddenly, Bill was aware of a huge mug of beer being slid under his nose. The aroma of yummy hops and malt was almost too much for him. He looked up and saw Uncle Nancy's smiling face.

  "What's this?" said Bill.

  "Aw, go on, Bill. One won't hurt you. Have some fun. You're spoiling the party."

  "No," said Bill. "This lemonade will do. What I need is some stimulating conversation. Let's talk about literature, Uncle Nancy. Or perhaps philosophy. I think that —"

  A commotion at the entrance distracted him. As one, Bill and his friends at the bar turned around to see a group of Troopers, not wearing dresses, parade into the bar. Leading them was none other than J. Edgar Insufledor, wearing a trench coat.

  "Bill!" said the Galactic Bureau of Investigation department head in his bluff, gravelly voice. "Bill! Your report is inadequate! Mission successful? What does that mean? And where is Elliot Methadrine!"

  "Ha ha, you silly old coot!" said Elliot-Bgr, hopping up and down a little drunkenly. "I, Bgr the Chinger, was Elliot Methadrine all along!" Bgr thumbed his nose at the guy and gave a bronx cheer. The entirety of the bar applauded.

  "What!" blustered the squat, red-faced deputy director. "And who is this suspicious-looking guy?" He glowered at Sir Dudley.

  "Your remarks are most repugnant, sir. I suggest you remove yourself at once. Or else..."

  "Or else! You threatening me? Maybe you're a Chinger in disguise." He glowered about, recoiled in horror. "In fact — my God! Books. Look at all the books here ... why, you're all Commupops, aren't you? Arrest them all, Troopers! And burn these books. Immediately. Bill, get out of that silly dress and help them, and I'll reduce your sentence to a month of KP."

  Bill sighed. He looked at his friends. And then he looked at the Troopers and at Deputy Director Insufledor.

  He pulled his newly cleaned and oiled blaster from its holster at the side of his leg, thumbed the lever to MAXIMUM DEATH FRY, and raised it.

  "Don't do it, Bill," cozened Sir Dudley. "Insufledor is certainly expendable. But you would never forgive yourself if you wasted those Troopers. I have a better idea."

  Sir Dudley boomed with energy, expanding and glowing until his Time Portal reached the ceiling. The frightened Troopers fired energy blasts at him, but he just laughed, absorbed the energy and grew larger.

  Then struck!

  There was an eye-blasting surge of light, and when they could see again the Time Portal was gone. Along with Insufledor and his Troopers.

  Bill sighed. "He was a good old Time Portal, he was. Let's drink to his health."

  His subconscious had decided for him. He reached out thirstily, picked up the huge mug of beer and drained it in three large gulps.

  The alcohol — after more than two years off the hooch — hit him like a damp sock filled with a lead pipe over his head.

  "New corollary to the Meaning of Life," he said, his words slurring already. "Life may not mean bowb, but it comes damned close!" He then pushed his glass forward. "Lemme have another one of those, Nancy."

  "Sure thing, Bill," said Uncle Nancy. "Coming up."

  "Hey, dude!" cried the voice of the AI in his ear, speaking although unbidden. "What happened to Da Boss?"

  Bill sighed. "About what is going to happen to you. Sir Dudley, wherever you are — can you hear me? Do you think you can take this implant along with the others?"

  A card appeared in midair, dropped to the table.

  "No trouble there, Bill. Enjoy yourself," it read.

  There was a little ping and a tickle in Bill's ear and the implant was gone.

  "Gee — Bill, that leaves just you and me. Have a last drink before I go. War is hell." Bgr emptied his glass.

  Bill in happy response drained another mug of beer, and the soft sweet music of inebriation and oblivion was soon whispering its alcoholic tunes to him yet again.

  He ordered another one and then hoisted his interesting foot up onto the bar.

  "You know, Nance," Bill said.

  "What, Bill?" said Uncle Nancy giving him another beer and sealing his alcoholic future.

  "This ain't such a bad-lookin' foot after all. You know, I think a Trooper should be proud of his foot, no matter what."

  "Damned nice foot if you asked me, Bill," said Uncle Nancy.

  "Yeah." Bill sipped at his new beer, slowing down his intake and taking over a minute to finish the two Imperial pints it contained. "By the way, guys," he said. "I was just telling you what the Meaning of Life was — and for the life of me, I don't remember exactly what I said!"

  "Simple enough, old buddy. You said that life just doesn't mean bowb."

  "That's what you said, Bill," Bgr said from the doorway. "Makes sense, doesn't it? Be seeing you."

  "You're really a Chinger and I got to do my duty," Bill rumbled, reaching for his blaster. But the door was empty. He sighed and breathed aloud what, someday, if he lived that long, would be inscribed on his tombstone.

  "Barman. I'll have another drink."