Bill 7 - the Galactic Hero (25 page)

Bill wondered if that was one of the weeks he'd been a prisoner of Eyerack. That made him wonder if he would get his back pay for serving in the Eyerackian army. He guessed not. He probably forfeited all of his back pay when he was sentenced to death. There was another notice.

YOUR EMPEROR LOVES YOU!

“Yes, I do, I really do!” — The Emperor.

The Imperial Household Staff announces with great regret that tragedy has once again struck the beloved Imperial Family.

Due to inherited circulatory troubles it has been discovered that Grand Admiral Kvetch of the Imperial Navy has been braindead for six years. All of his recent orders are canceled.

The poor man, Bill commiserated. He had served under other officers who were braindead and it never seemed to impede their performance. Or improve it. But of course it was more serious when a relative of the Emperor got it.

There were other Imperial edicts, but Bill was too depressed to read them. He made his way slowly back to his solitary bed, seeing the doctor once on the way and swinging a foot-fist that almost got him. He hit the wall instead and put a hole in it. At times he was beginning to enjoy his third hand, although he really would have preferred a foot if there had been any choice.

He sat on the edge of his bed trimming his toenails with his new hand. Handy. But depressing.

As were the Troopers and the whole war and everything. He would be well soon and out of the hospital and back in the front lines. If he didn't think of something fast.

He couldn't think of something even slow, which was even more depressing. He turned on the holovision and skipped through the channels. All ads. Including one asking for volunteers for the Recruiting Service. A busty blond in a tight uniform was touting for the military.

"We need men with guts. Men who are not afraid to serve their Emperor out there at the ragged ends of the Empire. Men ready to recruit the soldiers needed to fight this war to end all wars.

“This is a specialized occupation that fills a specific need. Combat veterans are asked to apply. Especially wounded ones not fit to fight very much more. Serve your Emperor. This is an equal opportunity job. It doesn't matter if you have tusks and two right arms and three hands. Your Emperor needs you!”

“He certainly does,” Bill sighed, shaking hands with himself and bending over so he could twang his tusks with his free hand.

The timeless saga of Bill, the Galactic Hero, was drawing to a reluctant end.

The saga of Bill, the Recruiting Sergeant, was about to begin.

THE END