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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/31737-h.zip b/31737-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..218829e --- /dev/null +++ b/31737-h.zip diff --git a/31737-h/31737-h.htm b/31737-h/31737-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2337953 --- /dev/null +++ b/31737-h/31737-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,891 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Sloths of Kruvny, by Vern Fearing + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.p1 { font-size:xx-large; font-weight:bold; text-align:center; } + +.p2 { font-size: x-large; font-weight:bold; text-align:center; } + +.p3 { font-size: larger; font-weight:bold; text-align:center; } + +.center {text-align: center;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft1 { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sloths of Kruvny, by Vern Fearing + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Sloths of Kruvny + +Author: Vern Fearing + +Illustrator: Henry Sharp + +Release Date: March 22, 2010 [EBook #31737] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SLOTHS OF KRUVNY *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Amazing Stories Oct.-Nov. 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="555" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<div> +<img class="figleft" src="images/image_001_01.jpg" width="800" height="237" alt="" title="" /> + +<img class="figleft" src="images/image_001_02.jpg" width="484" height="322" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p class="p1">THE SLOTHS<br /> + +OF<br /> + +KRUVNY</p> + + +<p class="p2">BY VERN FEARING</p> + + +<p class="p3">Illustrator: Henry Sharp</p> + +<p> </p> +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>This world we live in is a pretty grim place. It's tough to +make a living. At any moment we may get blown up, down or +sideways by the atom bomb. The day after tomorrow may never +come, and on top of all this, TV commercials are getting +worse and worse. It seems that our only salvation is a sense +of humor, so we give you "The Sloths ..." a very unserious +yarn.</i> </p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_b.jpg" alt="B" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>radley Broadshoulders—friends called him "Brad", or "Broad", or +"Shoulders"—stood grim-lipped, as is the custom of spacemen, and +waited for the Commander to speak fateful words. He was an obese +youth, fully five feet tall, without a shred of muscle, but he wore +the green tunic of the Galaxy Patrol proudly, and his handsome, bony +head boasted a tidy crop of Venusian fungus. His gleaming eyes +gleamed.</p> + +<p>"Brad, We Are In A Tough Fix!" the Commander said suddenly. His name +was Metternich, known also as Foxey Gran'pa; he had spoken in capitals +all over Europe and continued the practice since. "We Are Up Against +It!" he went on. "The Fate Of The World May Be At Stake!"</p> + +<p>"What's wrong, chief?" asked Brad, jauntily.</p> + +<p>"Plenty!" roared Metternich. "Nobody's Attacking The Earth—That's +What's Wrong! Nobody Is Out To Conquer The Universe! How Come, May I +Ask?"</p> + +<p>Brad gulped. Could he believe his ears? No one attacking good, kind, +old Earth? Was there nothing in which a man could pin his faith, let +alone his ears? Were they, indeed, <i>his</i> ears?</p> + +<p>He turned to his best friend, Ugh, who stood beside him. Would he +stand behind him? Did he realize they were on the verge of A Mission? +Ugh was a <i>pastiche</i>, or <i>intermezzo</i>—a cross between a Martian and a +Texan—as loathsome and stupid a combination as one could wish. Why he +was Brad's best friend was a mystery. Squarely, he met Brad's gaze, +which left him an eye to spare. It winked, and Brad shuddered.</p> + +<p>It was an omen....</p> + +<p>"I Want To Know Why!" the Commander shouted. "You Have Your Secret +Orders! Off With You!"</p> + +<p>A really fat omen.</p> + +<p>The good ship, <i>Lox Wing</i>, was almost ready to go. She was a fine, +spaceworthy craft, Brad knew; just the same, it <i>was</i> disconcerting to +see rats deserting her by the thousands. Not that he missed them; some +were sure to return as soon as Ugh appeared on the scene; he seemed to +fascinate them.</p> + +<p>Just then, the rats paused. Sure enough, Ugh was coming. He was +reeling. He had apparently made the rounds, as is the custom of +spacemen, swilling vast quantities of airplane dope, and he was high +as a kite. Brad glommed him glumly in the gloaming, with more than a +glimmer of gloomy foreboding. It was wrong, he thought, all wrong. If +only it hadn't been too late to turn back. But it wasn't. They hadn't +even started yet. If anything, it was too early. There was no way out. +He entered the spaceship with a Si. Si, whose whole name was Silas +Mariner, shook his hand weakly, muttered: "Remember the <i>Albatross</i>!" +and tottered out.</p> + +<p>It was an omen....</p> + +<p>Presently, Brad and Ugh were blasting off. As the cigar-shaped vessel +rose to the starry void, spacemen, their visages lined and tanned like +cigars, held their cigars aloft in silent salute and gently flicked +their ashes, while softly, a cigar band played "<i>Maracas, Why You No +Love Me No More?</i>"</p> + +<p>Two days out, Brad summoned Ugh. "How fast are we going?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, say ... 30,000 miles an hour?"</p> + +<p>Brad calculated rapidly and put down his abacus. "At this rate it'll +take us 14 years just to get out of our own lousy solar system!" he +barked. "Faster!"</p> + +<p>Ugh said Yes, Sir, and vice versa. Then he upped the speed to 186,000 +miles per second and came back and shyly told Brad.</p> + +<p>Brad said "Bah! We'll be 70 years reaching the Big Dipper! Faster!"</p> + +<p>"But <i>nothing</i> can't <i>go</i> any faster!" protested Ugh. "According to +Einstein—"</p> + +<p>"To hell with Einstein!" roared Brad. "Is he paying your salary?"</p> + +<p>So they went faster.</p> + +<p>The ship sped onward—unless it was upward—to fulfill its Mission. +Again and again Brad found himself wondering where he was going. The +Mission was a real stiff. He knew only that since there was +practically no life anywhere in the solar system, except for good, +kind, old Earth—Earth had seen to that—anyone attacking Earth—or +not doing so—was obviously somewhere in outer space! But here the +trail ended.</p> + +<p>Courage, he told himself, courage! After all, was he not the grandson +of Pierre Fromage, inventor of the rubberband motor? With a start, he +realized he was not.</p> + +<p>His own heritage, while covered with peculiar glory, was a more tragic +one—the spacemen's heritage. The Broadshoulders were brave, but +things happened to them. His grandfather, a traffic officer, had +chased a comet for speeding, and had, unfortunately, overtaken it. His +father had been spared the fire, but one day, aboard his spaceship, +someone spilled a glass of water. The gravity was off at the time, and +the water just hung there in mid-air until Brad's father walked into +it and drowned.</p> + +<p>What would be his own end, he wondered? What other way was there to +die? Just then, through the bulkhead, he could hear Ugh swinging in +his hammock, playing the violin. He wondered if the rats were dancing, +like the last time he'd surprised him. Another thought was on the way, +something about rats and a new way to die, but Brad was already +asleep, mercifully having a nightmare.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It was morning of the fifth day when the <i>Emergency Alarm</i> (E-A) was +suddenly activated! Instantly, a host of automatic devices went off. +One turned on the fan, another blew the fuses, a third made the beds. +Bells clanged and bugles sounded every call from <i>Battle Stations</i> +(B-S) to <i>Abandon Ship</i> (J-r). Brad and Ugh slept through it all. +Nothing was wrong, except with the <i>Emergency Alarm</i> (E-A). It wore +itself out and the eventful voyage continued.</p> + +<p>Brad woke on the ninth day. The 2-day pill he'd taken on the third day +had evidently done its work well. He was rested, he felt optimistic +again. When he looked out the porthole, he could see plenty of space +for improvement.</p> + +<p>—But what was <i>that</i>?</p> + +<p>There, half obscured in a tumbling, swirling mass of misty gray +clouds, he could make out something white! He pressed his nose against +the porthole and strained his eyes. It gave him the feeling of peering +into a Bendix, as is the custom of spacemen. His mouth went damp-dry. +This was it—whatever it was!</p> + +<p>"Ugh!" he shouted, all agog. "Ugh! Ugh!"</p> + +<p>Ugh dashed in, wheeling a large kaleidoscope. Expertly, they read the +directions and trained it on the mysterious formation. The Indicator +turned pale.</p> + +<p>"By the ring-tailed dog star of Sirius!" barked Brad. "Why, it's +nothing more than an enormous gallstone, revolving in space!"</p> + +<p>"This is Sirius!" barked Ugh.</p> + +<p>"That's what <i>I</i> barked!" snapped Brad. "And don't ask me <i>whose</i> it +is! It's big enough to support life, that's the main issue! Prepare to +land!"</p> + +<p>A strange, yet resplendent, civilization, thought Brad, looking out at +a sunlit landscape, or gallscape, of molten gold. The houses, stylish +igloos and mosques, were sturdily constructed of 3-ply cardboard and +driftwood. Before each house, mysteriously, stood a Berber pole of +solid peppermint.</p> + +<p>Brad and Ugh bounded out of their ship. The two bounders stood there, +encased in heat-resistant pyrex pants, expecting the natives to make +things hot for them. Dumbfounded at the delay, they waited for the +attack to commence. It did not.</p> + +<p>"I never!" said Brad, presently. "If we needed proof, we've got it! +Such a display of indolence is testimony enough that these people are +responsible for not attacking Earth! We shall have to use stratemegy!"</p> + +<p>Swiftly, he took off his pants, revealing underneath the red flannel +costume of a 17th century French courtier, complete with powdered wig +and Falstaff. Ugh ran up a flag emblazoned with the legend: <i>Diplomacy +And Agriculture</i>, then planted beans all around the ship, while Brad +postured and danced the minuet.</p> + +<p>The clever scheme worked beautifully. Soon an old man began circling +them on a bicycle, keeping a safe distance. Clearly, he was someone of +importance, for his long white beard was carefully braided and coiled +in a delivery basket on the handlebars. Furthermore, he wore a glowing +circlet on his forehead—so that Brad knew he was able to read their +minds—if they had any.</p> + +<p>"How about throwing us a couple circlets?" Brad cried.</p> + +<p>Instead, the old man, who was hard of hearing, flung them a couple +cutlets, which worked even better, and had protein besides.</p> + +<p>Thus fortified, they were escorted to the palace.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Some moments earlier, Brad had learned first, that Kruvny was the name +of this unusual culture, and second, that the High Kruv himself, +attended by all his nobles, would see him. Brad had then entered the +Kruv Chamber, or Trapeze Room, and he had learned nothing since. It +was all true, he told himself. The High Kruv <i>was</i> hanging by his toes +from a trapeze, and so were all his nobles. The only difference was +that the High Kruv's trapeze was more ornate than the rest. Yes, said +Brad to himself, it was all true; he had been shaking and punching his +head, and nothing had changed.</p> + +<p>"I come," he said, "from a far away land—"</p> + +<p>"Shad-dap!" cried the Kruv. "Who cares?"</p> + +<p>At this, the old man, who was still on his bicycle, whispered to Brad. +"They've all got headaches," he nodded, stroking his beard +sagebrushly. "It's all part of a great cosmic error—a tragedy played +among the spiral nebulae, to the hollow ringing laughter of the gods! +You see, we Sloths are only half the population of Kruvny," he went +on. "On the other side of our world live the Sidemen, or Sad Sax. +Legend has it that eons ago, the Sidemen were mistakenly delivered a +cargo of saxophones, from Saks Fifth Avenue." The old man's voice was +hushed as he added, "They have been practicing ever since."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Brad. "And that accounts for the headaches here?"</p> + +<p>"Small wonder," said the old man. "I bless the day I went deaf."</p> + +<p>"But why do they do it?" asked Brad.</p> + +<p>"The Sidemen? They're tryin' to drive us off'n the ranch—the planet, +I mean. Yuh see, they claim they <i>made</i> this whole durned gallstone +theirselves!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Made</i> it?" asked Brad, dully.</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh." The old man spat Mercurian tobacco juice. "Just like on +Earth, where myriad minute oceanic organisms pile their skeletons to +form coral islands. Yuh see, the Sidemen eat radishes—love 'em, in +fact—but it gives 'em gallstones. They claim this whole world is the +collected gallstones of their ancestors." The old man wiped Mercurian +tobacco juice from his beard and shoes. "Kind of a hard claim to +beat," he opined.</p> + +<p>"I see," said Brad. "That explains the misty swirling clouds all +around this planet, and why it's seldom visible. You follow me?"</p> + +<p>"Yep," said the old man. "It's gas. Them radishes'll turn on you every +time!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly the High Kruv began to sob. "Now you see, don't you, why we +haven't attacked Earth? A body can't keep his mind on anything around +here! I asked for a few secret weapons, and what did I get?" He was +blubbering now. "Oh, I tried, I tried! Appropriations and all that; +you may be sure we lined our pockets—but after years of stalling, +they showed up with two weapons they swore were terrible enough to put +an end to war. One of them was a water pistol."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Brad. "And the other?"</p> + +<p>"A ray gun."</p> + +<p>Brad's eyes brightened. "A ray gun? May I see how it works?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed you may!"</p> + +<p>A platoon of maroon dragoons dragged in a queer apparatus. It looked +like a medieval cannon, with a Victorian phonograph speaker flaring +from its business end. The dragoons ranged around the weapon, keeping +their backs to it. One of them clutched the firing lanyard. There was +a pause, a brittle silence—then the lanyard snapped!</p> + +<p>"'<i>Ray!</i>'" shouted the ray gun.</p> + +<p>"What was that?" asked Brad.</p> + +<p>Twice more the lanyard snapped. The ray gun boomed: "'<i>Ray! Ray!</i>'"</p> + +<p>"You mean all it does is shout '<i>Ray</i>?'" asked Brad.</p> + +<p>"Well, it can also shout '<i>Max</i>'," said the old man. "Fearful, ain't +it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Brad. He took a piece of old parchment from a breast +pocket. "This," he stated, "is the original deed to Manhattan. Notice +here on the bottom where it says $24. I am signing it over to you." He +signed with a flourish. "Now you have a legal claim, a crusade, and a +nice piece of property. Go get it!"</p> + +<p>"But the headaches!" cried the old man.</p> + +<p>"Cool, man, cool!" said Brad. "I'll mix a Bromo."</p> + +<p>"Is it habit-forming?" cried the High Kruv.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," said Brad, mixing it. "Simply take one an hour, forever. +And now I must bid you farewell."</p> + +<p>"Wait!" cried the Kruv. "Don't you want to take my lovely daughter +back with you?"</p> + +<p>Brad looked at her. She was lovely. She had scales, but she was +lovely. She had magnificent blonde hair, some of it almost an inch +long, none of it on her head, but she was lovely.</p> + +<p>"... Well," said Brad, hesitatingly. He had his eyes glued on her; +when he took them off, they made a noise like vacuum cups: +"<i>Pfffopp!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Your mother won't like her," whispered Ugh.</p> + +<p>"... Well," said Brad. He could feel Duty tugging inside. Not for him +the pipe and slippers. He was one of spaceway's men; he would go the +spacemen's way, off into waymen's space. Waymen, not women, he told +himself sternly. The call of the Ether ... the vacuous void ... the +black velvet wastes ... the outspread cloak of the universe, dripping +with stardust ... the undreamt-of galaxies ... these were the things +by which he lived. "... Well," said Brad.</p> + +<p>"C'mon," said Ugh. "We'll only fight over her."</p> + +<p>Slowly, they bounded back to their spaceship.</p> + +<p>The ship sped backward, headed for Earth. It was days before the +mistake was discovered, and this alone spared their lives. For had +they completed their journey on schedule—but why be morbid?</p> + +<p>The fact is, the Earth blew up. What a sight. The whole thing, +whirling one minute like the globe in Miss Fogarty's geography supply +closet—the next minute, whamo!</p> + +<p>"Gee," said Ugh, soberly. "Guess we're lucky, huh?"</p> + +<p>"... Well," said Brad. He hadn't said anything else for days, but he +didn't seem well at all. Funny, he thought. They promise you if you go +on working, work hard and don't fool around, don't ask questions, just +do your job, everything'll come your way. The next thing they're all +dead, and there's nobody to complain to, even. Was it selfish to think +of one's career at a time like this? No, he told himself. It was all +he knew. The Patrol was all that mattered!</p> + +<p>He did some rapid calculation. They were far off the interplanetary +travel lanes; their fuel supply was down to a single can of kerosene; +food for perhaps 2 days remained. As he listened to Ugh tuning his +violin, scarcely audible over the squeakings and squealings that +filled the spaceship, he realized that the only solution—the only +thing that could save them, or the future of Earthmen—was for a +shipload of beautiful dames to rescue them within the next 36 hours.</p> + +<p>He figured the odds against this to be fifty billion to one—but Brad +had fought big odds before.</p> + +<p>Grim-lipped, he shaved.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sloths of Kruvny, by Vern Fearing + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SLOTHS OF KRUVNY *** + +***** This file should be named 31737-h.htm or 31737-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/7/3/31737/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Sloths of Kruvny + +Author: Vern Fearing + +Illustrator: Henry Sharp + +Release Date: March 22, 2010 [EBook #31737] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SLOTHS OF KRUVNY *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Amazing Stories Oct.-Nov. 1953. Extensive + research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this + publication was renewed. + + + THE SLOTHS + + OF + + KRUVNY + + + BY VERN FEARING + + + Illustrator: Henry Sharp + + + _This world we live in is a pretty grim place. It's tough to + make a living. At any moment we may get blown up, down or + sideways by the atom bomb. The day after tomorrow may never + come, and on top of all this, TV commercials are getting + worse and worse. It seems that our only salvation is a sense + of humor, so we give you "The Sloths ..." a very unserious + yarn._ + + * * * * * + + + + +Bradley Broadshoulders--friends called him "Brad", or "Broad", or +"Shoulders"--stood grim-lipped, as is the custom of spacemen, and +waited for the Commander to speak fateful words. He was an obese +youth, fully five feet tall, without a shred of muscle, but he wore +the green tunic of the Galaxy Patrol proudly, and his handsome, bony +head boasted a tidy crop of Venusian fungus. His gleaming eyes +gleamed. + +"Brad, We Are In A Tough Fix!" the Commander said suddenly. His name +was Metternich, known also as Foxey Gran'pa; he had spoken in capitals +all over Europe and continued the practice since. "We Are Up Against +It!" he went on. "The Fate Of The World May Be At Stake!" + +"What's wrong, chief?" asked Brad, jauntily. + +"Plenty!" roared Metternich. "Nobody's Attacking The Earth--That's +What's Wrong! Nobody Is Out To Conquer The Universe! How Come, May I +Ask?" + +Brad gulped. Could he believe his ears? No one attacking good, kind, +old Earth? Was there nothing in which a man could pin his faith, let +alone his ears? Were they, indeed, _his_ ears? + +He turned to his best friend, Ugh, who stood beside him. Would he +stand behind him? Did he realize they were on the verge of A Mission? +Ugh was a _pastiche_, or _intermezzo_--a cross between a Martian and a +Texan--as loathsome and stupid a combination as one could wish. Why he +was Brad's best friend was a mystery. Squarely, he met Brad's gaze, +which left him an eye to spare. It winked, and Brad shuddered. + +It was an omen.... + +"I Want To Know Why!" the Commander shouted. "You Have Your Secret +Orders! Off With You!" + +A really fat omen. + +The good ship, _Lox Wing_, was almost ready to go. She was a fine, +spaceworthy craft, Brad knew; just the same, it _was_ disconcerting to +see rats deserting her by the thousands. Not that he missed them; some +were sure to return as soon as Ugh appeared on the scene; he seemed to +fascinate them. + +Just then, the rats paused. Sure enough, Ugh was coming. He was +reeling. He had apparently made the rounds, as is the custom of +spacemen, swilling vast quantities of airplane dope, and he was high +as a kite. Brad glommed him glumly in the gloaming, with more than a +glimmer of gloomy foreboding. It was wrong, he thought, all wrong. If +only it hadn't been too late to turn back. But it wasn't. They hadn't +even started yet. If anything, it was too early. There was no way out. +He entered the spaceship with a Si. Si, whose whole name was Silas +Mariner, shook his hand weakly, muttered: "Remember the _Albatross_!" +and tottered out. + +It was an omen.... + +Presently, Brad and Ugh were blasting off. As the cigar-shaped vessel +rose to the starry void, spacemen, their visages lined and tanned like +cigars, held their cigars aloft in silent salute and gently flicked +their ashes, while softly, a cigar band played "_Maracas, Why You No +Love Me No More?_" + +Two days out, Brad summoned Ugh. "How fast are we going?" + +"Oh, say ... 30,000 miles an hour?" + +Brad calculated rapidly and put down his abacus. "At this rate it'll +take us 14 years just to get out of our own lousy solar system!" he +barked. "Faster!" + +Ugh said Yes, Sir, and vice versa. Then he upped the speed to 186,000 +miles per second and came back and shyly told Brad. + +Brad said "Bah! We'll be 70 years reaching the Big Dipper! Faster!" + +"But _nothing_ can't _go_ any faster!" protested Ugh. "According to +Einstein--" + +"To hell with Einstein!" roared Brad. "Is he paying your salary?" + +So they went faster. + +The ship sped onward--unless it was upward--to fulfill its Mission. +Again and again Brad found himself wondering where he was going. The +Mission was a real stiff. He knew only that since there was +practically no life anywhere in the solar system, except for good, +kind, old Earth--Earth had seen to that--anyone attacking Earth--or +not doing so--was obviously somewhere in outer space! But here the +trail ended. + +Courage, he told himself, courage! After all, was he not the grandson +of Pierre Fromage, inventor of the rubberband motor? With a start, he +realized he was not. + +His own heritage, while covered with peculiar glory, was a more tragic +one--the spacemen's heritage. The Broadshoulders were brave, but +things happened to them. His grandfather, a traffic officer, had +chased a comet for speeding, and had, unfortunately, overtaken it. His +father had been spared the fire, but one day, aboard his spaceship, +someone spilled a glass of water. The gravity was off at the time, and +the water just hung there in mid-air until Brad's father walked into +it and drowned. + +What would be his own end, he wondered? What other way was there to +die? Just then, through the bulkhead, he could hear Ugh swinging in +his hammock, playing the violin. He wondered if the rats were dancing, +like the last time he'd surprised him. Another thought was on the way, +something about rats and a new way to die, but Brad was already +asleep, mercifully having a nightmare. + + * * * * * + +It was morning of the fifth day when the _Emergency Alarm_ (E-A) was +suddenly activated! Instantly, a host of automatic devices went off. +One turned on the fan, another blew the fuses, a third made the beds. +Bells clanged and bugles sounded every call from _Battle Stations_ +(B-S) to _Abandon Ship_ (J-r). Brad and Ugh slept through it all. +Nothing was wrong, except with the _Emergency Alarm_ (E-A). It wore +itself out and the eventful voyage continued. + +Brad woke on the ninth day. The 2-day pill he'd taken on the third day +had evidently done its work well. He was rested, he felt optimistic +again. When he looked out the porthole, he could see plenty of space +for improvement. + +--But what was _that_? + +There, half obscured in a tumbling, swirling mass of misty gray +clouds, he could make out something white! He pressed his nose against +the porthole and strained his eyes. It gave him the feeling of peering +into a Bendix, as is the custom of spacemen. His mouth went damp-dry. +This was it--whatever it was! + +"Ugh!" he shouted, all agog. "Ugh! Ugh!" + +Ugh dashed in, wheeling a large kaleidoscope. Expertly, they read the +directions and trained it on the mysterious formation. The Indicator +turned pale. + +"By the ring-tailed dog star of Sirius!" barked Brad. "Why, it's +nothing more than an enormous gallstone, revolving in space!" + +"This is Sirius!" barked Ugh. + +"That's what _I_ barked!" snapped Brad. "And don't ask me _whose_ it +is! It's big enough to support life, that's the main issue! Prepare to +land!" + +A strange, yet resplendent, civilization, thought Brad, looking out at +a sunlit landscape, or gallscape, of molten gold. The houses, stylish +igloos and mosques, were sturdily constructed of 3-ply cardboard and +driftwood. Before each house, mysteriously, stood a Berber pole of +solid peppermint. + +Brad and Ugh bounded out of their ship. The two bounders stood there, +encased in heat-resistant pyrex pants, expecting the natives to make +things hot for them. Dumbfounded at the delay, they waited for the +attack to commence. It did not. + +"I never!" said Brad, presently. "If we needed proof, we've got it! +Such a display of indolence is testimony enough that these people are +responsible for not attacking Earth! We shall have to use stratemegy!" + +Swiftly, he took off his pants, revealing underneath the red flannel +costume of a 17th century French courtier, complete with powdered wig +and Falstaff. Ugh ran up a flag emblazoned with the legend: _Diplomacy +And Agriculture_, then planted beans all around the ship, while Brad +postured and danced the minuet. + +The clever scheme worked beautifully. Soon an old man began circling +them on a bicycle, keeping a safe distance. Clearly, he was someone of +importance, for his long white beard was carefully braided and coiled +in a delivery basket on the handlebars. Furthermore, he wore a glowing +circlet on his forehead--so that Brad knew he was able to read their +minds--if they had any. + +"How about throwing us a couple circlets?" Brad cried. + +Instead, the old man, who was hard of hearing, flung them a couple +cutlets, which worked even better, and had protein besides. + +Thus fortified, they were escorted to the palace. + + * * * * * + +Some moments earlier, Brad had learned first, that Kruvny was the name +of this unusual culture, and second, that the High Kruv himself, +attended by all his nobles, would see him. Brad had then entered the +Kruv Chamber, or Trapeze Room, and he had learned nothing since. It +was all true, he told himself. The High Kruv _was_ hanging by his toes +from a trapeze, and so were all his nobles. The only difference was +that the High Kruv's trapeze was more ornate than the rest. Yes, said +Brad to himself, it was all true; he had been shaking and punching his +head, and nothing had changed. + +"I come," he said, "from a far away land--" + +"Shad-dap!" cried the Kruv. "Who cares?" + +At this, the old man, who was still on his bicycle, whispered to Brad. +"They've all got headaches," he nodded, stroking his beard +sagebrushly. "It's all part of a great cosmic error--a tragedy played +among the spiral nebulae, to the hollow ringing laughter of the gods! +You see, we Sloths are only half the population of Kruvny," he went +on. "On the other side of our world live the Sidemen, or Sad Sax. +Legend has it that eons ago, the Sidemen were mistakenly delivered a +cargo of saxophones, from Saks Fifth Avenue." The old man's voice was +hushed as he added, "They have been practicing ever since." + +"I see," said Brad. "And that accounts for the headaches here?" + +"Small wonder," said the old man. "I bless the day I went deaf." + +"But why do they do it?" asked Brad. + +"The Sidemen? They're tryin' to drive us off'n the ranch--the planet, +I mean. Yuh see, they claim they _made_ this whole durned gallstone +theirselves!" + +"_Made_ it?" asked Brad, dully. + +"Uh-huh." The old man spat Mercurian tobacco juice. "Just like on +Earth, where myriad minute oceanic organisms pile their skeletons to +form coral islands. Yuh see, the Sidemen eat radishes--love 'em, in +fact--but it gives 'em gallstones. They claim this whole world is the +collected gallstones of their ancestors." The old man wiped Mercurian +tobacco juice from his beard and shoes. "Kind of a hard claim to +beat," he opined. + +"I see," said Brad. "That explains the misty swirling clouds all +around this planet, and why it's seldom visible. You follow me?" + +"Yep," said the old man. "It's gas. Them radishes'll turn on you every +time!" + +Suddenly the High Kruv began to sob. "Now you see, don't you, why we +haven't attacked Earth? A body can't keep his mind on anything around +here! I asked for a few secret weapons, and what did I get?" He was +blubbering now. "Oh, I tried, I tried! Appropriations and all that; +you may be sure we lined our pockets--but after years of stalling, +they showed up with two weapons they swore were terrible enough to put +an end to war. One of them was a water pistol." + +"I see," said Brad. "And the other?" + +"A ray gun." + +Brad's eyes brightened. "A ray gun? May I see how it works?" + +"Indeed you may!" + +A platoon of maroon dragoons dragged in a queer apparatus. It looked +like a medieval cannon, with a Victorian phonograph speaker flaring +from its business end. The dragoons ranged around the weapon, keeping +their backs to it. One of them clutched the firing lanyard. There was +a pause, a brittle silence--then the lanyard snapped! + +"'_Ray!_'" shouted the ray gun. + +"What was that?" asked Brad. + +Twice more the lanyard snapped. The ray gun boomed: "'_Ray! Ray!_'" + +"You mean all it does is shout '_Ray_?'" asked Brad. + +"Well, it can also shout '_Max_'," said the old man. "Fearful, ain't +it?" + +"Yes," said Brad. He took a piece of old parchment from a breast +pocket. "This," he stated, "is the original deed to Manhattan. Notice +here on the bottom where it says $24. I am signing it over to you." He +signed with a flourish. "Now you have a legal claim, a crusade, and a +nice piece of property. Go get it!" + +"But the headaches!" cried the old man. + +"Cool, man, cool!" said Brad. "I'll mix a Bromo." + +"Is it habit-forming?" cried the High Kruv. + +"Not a bit," said Brad, mixing it. "Simply take one an hour, forever. +And now I must bid you farewell." + +"Wait!" cried the Kruv. "Don't you want to take my lovely daughter +back with you?" + +Brad looked at her. She was lovely. She had scales, but she was +lovely. She had magnificent blonde hair, some of it almost an inch +long, none of it on her head, but she was lovely. + +"... Well," said Brad, hesitatingly. He had his eyes glued on her; +when he took them off, they made a noise like vacuum cups: +"_Pfffopp!_" + +"Your mother won't like her," whispered Ugh. + +"... Well," said Brad. He could feel Duty tugging inside. Not for him +the pipe and slippers. He was one of spaceway's men; he would go the +spacemen's way, off into waymen's space. Waymen, not women, he told +himself sternly. The call of the Ether ... the vacuous void ... the +black velvet wastes ... the outspread cloak of the universe, dripping +with stardust ... the undreamt-of galaxies ... these were the things +by which he lived. "... Well," said Brad. + +"C'mon," said Ugh. "We'll only fight over her." + +Slowly, they bounded back to their spaceship. + +The ship sped backward, headed for Earth. It was days before the +mistake was discovered, and this alone spared their lives. For had +they completed their journey on schedule--but why be morbid? + +The fact is, the Earth blew up. What a sight. The whole thing, +whirling one minute like the globe in Miss Fogarty's geography supply +closet--the next minute, whamo! + +"Gee," said Ugh, soberly. "Guess we're lucky, huh?" + +"... Well," said Brad. He hadn't said anything else for days, but he +didn't seem well at all. Funny, he thought. They promise you if you go +on working, work hard and don't fool around, don't ask questions, just +do your job, everything'll come your way. The next thing they're all +dead, and there's nobody to complain to, even. Was it selfish to think +of one's career at a time like this? No, he told himself. It was all +he knew. The Patrol was all that mattered! + +He did some rapid calculation. They were far off the interplanetary +travel lanes; their fuel supply was down to a single can of kerosene; +food for perhaps 2 days remained. As he listened to Ugh tuning his +violin, scarcely audible over the squeakings and squealings that +filled the spaceship, he realized that the only solution--the only +thing that could save them, or the future of Earthmen--was for a +shipload of beautiful dames to rescue them within the next 36 hours. + +He figured the odds against this to be fifty billion to one--but Brad +had fought big odds before. + +Grim-lipped, he shaved. + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sloths of Kruvny, by Vern Fearing + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SLOTHS OF KRUVNY *** + +***** This file should be named 31737.txt or 31737.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/7/3/31737/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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