ch 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

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