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the fall into a shoulder roll that canceled out most of the impact. He climbed
to his feet and brushed himself off.
Cursing under his breath, he looked around. Not much of a place.
The sky was green.
In the green sky were two no, three suns.
A few of the passersby, he noted, were not human. Indeed, they completely
ignored him and acted as though Galactic Troopers falling from the sky were an
everyday occurrence.
Gigantic flowers grew from the conical tops of buildings. A sweet and sour
musk, like hair oil and vinegar, was in the air. In the distance, a rocket
landed on a pillar of flame.
"Hmm," said Bill. "I wonder what part of Earth's history I'm in now." He
glanced around. "A weird part, that's for sure!"
Walking down the road was an old man. Bill called out to him. "Say, Pops you
couldn't tell what era of
Earth's history is this?"
"You drunk or something, sonny?"
"No but I wish I was. It's a simple question, isn't it?"
"Nope. Because this ain't Earth, sonny." The old man spit out tobacco juice.
It was a big target but he managed to miss the street and got Bill's boot
instead. "This here is Total Confusion!"
"Story of my life," Bill muttered, looking at the brown stain.
"But wherever you go, sonny-boy, you won't be on Earth. Because this here's
Pilgrimworld. The Year of
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Our Heinous Emperor, Stardate 234152!"
Bill blinked. "Why, that's about a year before I was born. But this is totally
another part of the galaxy from Phigerinadon II."
"You talk like you've lost your marbles. War wound?"
Bill scratched his head. Why, he'd been catapulted through space and time to a
completely new place. But why? It just didn't make any sense! But then, what
in life of late really did? Except, of course, one steady reliable Reality.
"War wound, something like that," said Bill. "One more question a real easy
one. Is there a bar around here?"
"Yep. Reckon so. Just 'round the corner, on Utter Nihilism Street, we got a
real nice establishment, name of Sally's Saloon. Tell 'em Willie-Boy sent
you!"
"Thanks, Willie-Boy!" said Bill, waving to the old geezer as he hobbled over
toward the Saloon.
"Hell, ain't Willie-Boy!" the old man snapped as he staggered away.
I
But Bill didn't hear him. Visions of beer bottles danced in his head.
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Bill, the Galactic Hero on the Planet of The Hippies From Hell
Bill rounded the corner marked "Utter Nihilism" and immediately saw the
tell-tale neon sign crying out
SALLY'S SALOON. He needed a couple drinks before he found out how to get back
to Barworld, save the universe from the hippies from Hellworld and the Nazi
menace and that kind of thing. He walked into the saloon, which was his kind
of bar dark, damp, smelling of stale beer and dead butts. He grabbed a stool
directly in front of a bored-looking bartender with arms the size of Aldebaran
hams.
"Willie-boy sent me!" said Bill.
The bartender immediately punched him in the face.
When Bill managed to scrabble his way back up onto the barstool, he had his
own fist cocked back to deliver a punch himself.
He found himself looking at the biggest shot glass he'd ever seen, filled with
amber fluid that could only be whiskey, alongside a healthy-sized draft beer.
"What?" Bill muttered, head ringing with confusion.
"Code for a practical joke, friend," said the bartender. "All newcomers on
Pilgrimworld get it. This is a frontier world, fella. We get kinda rough, but
we're good-hearted people too. Enjoy your free drinks."
Bill did not need a second invitation. The whiskey was rotten but alcoholic,
the beer flat but cold. But what the hell, this was the frontier. As he sipped
and looked into the mirror behind the bar, he saw that
Elliot Methadrine was coming through the door. Elliot smiled and pulled up a
stool next to the shocked figure of Bill.
"Barman, I'll have whatever my friend here is drinking. And tell him to close
his mouth before he catches some flies."
"Ergle!" Bill ergled and clacked his jaw shut. "But you're dead, shot to death
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