Harry Harrison Bill 06 On The Planet Of The Hippies From Hell (Dav

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bribed you with some wampum, right?"
"You wouldn't have any firewater, would you?" asked Bill, making feeble
connections at last with his memories of his copies of ROARING KINKY WESTERN
COWBOYS AND TRANSVESTITE INJUNS
THREE DEE COMIX.
"Just what are you idiots talking about?" demanded Chief Thunder Bluster.
"Would you speak English for heaven's sake and not that pagan nonsense?"
"But that's what you're doing now a pagan ceremony, correct?" responded
Elliot.
"Well of course," snarled Thunder Bluster. "How do you expect us to appease
the heathen gods with anything less than a pagan ceremony? You don't think
that they would be very impressed if we attempted to baptize you, do you?"
"Why don't you give it a try?" suggested Bill.
"Well, actually, this is going to be a very sweet and pleasant ceremony and
not at all within our realm of bloodthirsty tradition," said Buffalo
Billabong. "No, I think a cookout is of an entirely more appropriate nature,
don't you? The gods will not only be appeased, they can have spareribs for
dinner!" He pulled out a book from his hip pocket even as he sipped at his
huge can of Foster's. His lips moved as he read the
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Bill, the Galactic Hero on the Planet of The Hippies From Hell greasy-paged
book, the corks on his hat bobbling in the midst of a cloud of flies.
"And I suppose that's a collection of implorations to the gods!" said Elliot.
"Don't you see the entire thing is ridiculous? There are no gods! It looks as
though your superstitious tribe are the victims of "
"Stuff it, buster!" said Chief Thunder Bluster, "or I'll stuff a live prairie
dog down your gob!"
The threat was enough to keep Elliot silenced effectively, and Bill as well.
Particularly since the chief waved over his prairie dog handler with a couple
of fat specimens and shook them in their direction with sinister intent.
"Bravo!" commented the medicine man, observing all this. He held up the book.
Upon the leather jacket was inscribed, SERVING BLOODTHIRSTY PAGAN GODS GOOD.
Page 46
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"Actually, it's a recipe book! Let's see ... Upchuckandpeck, the big god
around here "
"I thought it was Coaxialcoitus!" said Bill. "That's what you told us
earlier."
"Oh yes ... so it is. There you go, mate. You see, you'll get a bit of
education before you snuff it. Wrong recipe." He paged around until he found
the appropriate one. "Well, well, well. Looks as though the dread and holy
Coaxial is a man after my own heart as well as after all the hearts of the
sacrifices we rip out around this place. He prefers his meals marinated in
Foster's lager!"
Bill's ears perked up. "Beer?"
"That's right, mayte!" Buffalo Billabong put his fingers into his mouth and
whistled. Immediately a whole cartload of Foster's Lager cans were trundled in
with great ceremony, dispatch and racket.
Bill's mouth started watering. He watched with unmoving attention as a pair of
Indian braves opened a pair of beer cans and then stepped forward, faces
intent with seriousness, muttering strange ceremonial words like "Schlitz",
"Budweiser" and "Ole Frothingslosh, the Pale Stale Ale" under their breaths.
Perhaps these Indians, Bill thought, were not as savage as Elliot had
originally thought.
He closed his eyes and opened his mouth expectantly.
Instead of pouring the beer into his mouth, however, the Indians poured it
over his head. It ran down his hair and ears, soaked into his shirt. At first
he spluttered, then began to suck desperately at the runnels of brew coming
down his face, only managing to extract the odd tantalizing sip.
When the can was empty, Bill opened his eyes. "Say, you know, Buff, I think
some inside marinating would help!"
"Stop this nonsense! Get on with the lighting of the pyre," roared the chief.
"Burn these idiots! The great god grows impatient."
"No, no, wait..." said the medicine man. "Perhaps he's right, Chief. That's
not a bad idea."
"Oh, if you must. After all, you are the medicine man around here and there is
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