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 tomake a living. At any moment we may get blown up, down orsideways by the atom bomb. The day after tomorrow may nevercome, and on top of all this, TV commercials are gettingworse and worse. It seems that our only salvation is a senseof humor, so we give you "The Sloths ..." a very unseriousyarn.
radley Broadshoulders—friends called him "Brad", or "Broad", or"Shoulders"—stood grim-lipped, as is the custom of spacemen, andwaited for the Commander to speak fateful words. He was an obeseyouth, fully five feet tall, without a shred of muscle, but he worethe green tunic of the Galaxy Patrol proudly, and his handsome, bonyhead boasted a tidy crop of Venusian fungus. His gleaming eyesgleamed.
"Brad, We Are In A Tough Fix!" the Commander said suddenly. His namewas Metternich, known also as Foxey Gran'pa; he had spoken in capitalsall over Europe and continued the practice since. "We Are Up AgainstIt!" 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'sWhat's Wrong! Nobody Is Out To Conquer The Universe! How Come, May IAsk?"
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, letalone his ears? Were they, indeed, his ears?
He turned to his best friend, Ugh, who stood beside him. Would hestand 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 aTexan—as loathsome and stupid a combination as one could wish. Why hewas 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 SecretOrders! 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 tosee rats deserting her by the thousands. Not that he missed them; somewere sure to return as soon as Ugh appeared on the scene; he seemed tofascinate them.
Just then, the rats paused. Sure enough, Ugh was coming. He wasreeling. He had apparently made the rounds, as is the custom ofspacemen, swilling vast quantities of airplane dope, and he was highas a kite. Brad glommed him glumly in the gloaming, with more than aglimmer of gloomy foreboding. It was wrong, he thought, all wrong. Ifonly it hadn't been too