Free Bill, The Galactic Hero 6 - on the Planet Of The Hippies From Hell by Harry Harrison Page B

like he was losing his sense of balance. He had the distinct sensation of being sucked into a mammoth Time Maw.
    The Portal had replaced the porcelain facility completely. A scintillating light swirled and revolved and gave off sparks, whirling and growing. Dimly seen within this display was a control console, not unlike a multidialed TV set. As the Time-Wind pulsed, the screen flickered and displayed some highly interesting scenes.
    Bill sniffed loudly. “It stinks,” he said nasally, because he was pinching his nostrils shut as he spoke.
    “Of course. That is because the Time-Nexus is routed through Garbageworld on its way to linkup to Barworld. Depends on what part of the past you tune into,” said Elliot. “This particular era, for instance, is particularly offensive to members of our era.” He tapped his nose. “Which is why Time Authority knocks out its agents' sense of smell before we Time Dump.”
    “And just what era would that be? That you're from I mean,” Uncle Nancy wanted to know.
    “Classified information,” stated Elliot unequivocally. Hair waving, he looked down at his device. Its needles were swinging wildly. A hot red light flashed. And the oscilloscope was being particularly scilly. “Yikes!” intoned Elliot, looking alarmed and rather uncharacteristically out of control. “This time portal —”
    “Don't tell me,” cried Uncle Nancy. “Something terrible is going to happen and we'll all be killed!”
    “No. Well, possibly maybe yes. Anything could happen — because this thing, this Time Portal, and I find this difficult to comprehend, is sentient!”
    “That's kind of a long word,” Bill explained. “It means, I guess — sentiment without the 'M' because it's not quite as emotional?”
    “No, moron. It means alive! Alive and intelligent! Which is more than I can say for you sometimes!” Elliot Methadrine shook his head with alarm and amazement. “In all my eras as a Time Agent, I've never seen such a thing!”
    “Alas, I encounter your deplorable type all too often,” a rich baritone bass said. British accent, deep-dipped with culture, heavily dripping irony and other metallic forms of humor. “Good day, you wretched deplorable excuses for biological self-propagation. In the words of my esteemed ancestors, Alexander Graham Time-Phone Machine, you rang?”
    The Time Portal glowed ethereally, a fascinating sight. Its interior was imbedded with alien crystalline assemblages and jewellike appendages emanating rainbowed glow and pixillating auras, light arias and perhaps even light operas, Haydn perhaps, or Delius — or was that THE MIKADO by Gilbert and Sullivan in the background? Upon those aforementioned screens flashed candid scenes from intergalactic history. The signing of the Declaration of Independence. The Emperor's Annual Public Constitutional. Napoleon the Fifth's Battle of Watercloset.
    “You.... You're a Time Portal?” intimated Bill, gasping gawkily with awe.
    “Well, I'm certainly not a Time Potable, so please refrain from drinking me, you obvious lush! Nor am I a Time Portable. I am the full-scale, full-priced model — an Eton- and Oxford-educated Time Portal. And dear chap it is a pitiable shame that as worthy an intelligence as I am, I must respond to anyone who yanks my chain, so to speak. Especially noisome and illiterate obnoxious primates such as yourself.”
    “Well, be that as it may,” intoned Elliot, rearing up to his full if meager height. “As you have just told us, in far too much detail, you have been summoned and you must help us!” Elliot flashed his Time Cop identification and then showed the Portal his Captain Cosmic Secret Decoder ring.
    “Yeah, right!” said Uncle Nancy. “And first off we want to know where the hell did that hairy guy who zipped in here get to?”
    “What's that, dear boy? Hirsute chappy, you say? Ah! Of course! You must mean that horrible hippie from Hellworld. Yes, quite! Why, I believe he went back into the past,