by Vern Fearing
on his forehead--so that Brad knew he was able to read theirminds--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 couplecutlets, 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 nameof this unusual culture, and second, that the High Kruv himself,attended by all his nobles, would see him. Brad had then entered theKruv Chamber, or Trapeze Room, and he had learned nothing since. Itwas all true, he told himself. The High Kruv _was_ hanging by his toesfrom a trapeze, and so were all his nobles. The only difference wasthat the High Kruv's trapeze was more ornate than the rest. Yes, saidBrad to himself, it was all true; he had been shaking and punching hishead, 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 beardsagebrushly. "It's all part of a great cosmic error--a tragedy playedamong the spiral nebulae, to the hollow ringing laughter of the gods!You see, we Sloths are only half the population of Kruvny," he wenton. "On the other side of our world live the Sidemen, or Sad Sax.Legend has it that eons ago, the Sidemen were mistakenly delivered acargo of saxophones, from Saks Fifth Avenue." The old man's voice washushed 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 gallstonetheirselves!"
"_Made_ it?" asked Brad, dully.
"Uh-huh." The old man spat Mercurian tobacco juice. "Just like onEarth, where myriad minute oceanic organisms pile their skeletons toform coral islands. Yuh see, the Sidemen eat radishes--love 'em, infact--but it gives 'em gallstones. They claim this whole world is thecollected gallstones of their ancestors." The old man wiped Mercuriantobacco juice from his beard and shoes. "Kind of a hard claim tobeat," he opined.
"I see," said Brad. "That explains the misty swirling clouds allaround 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 everytime!"
Suddenly the High Kruv began to sob. "Now you see, don't you, why wehaven't attacked Earth? A body can't keep his mind on anything aroundhere! I asked for a few secret weapons, and what did I get?" He wasblubbering 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 putan 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 lookedlike a medieval cannon, with a Victorian phonograph speaker flaringfrom its business end. The dragoons ranged around the weapon, keepingtheir backs to it. One of them clutched the firing lanyard. There wasa 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'tit?"
"Yes," said Brad. He took a piece of old parchment from a breastpocket. "This," he stated, "is the original deed to Manhattan. Noticehere on the bottom where it says $24. I am signing it over to you." Hesigned with a flourish. "Now you have a legal claim, a crusade, and anice 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 daughterback with you?"
Brad looked at her. She was lovely. She had scales, but she waslovely. She had magnificent blonde hair, some of it almost an inchlong, 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 himthe pipe and slippers. He was one of spaceway's men; he would go thespacemen's way, off into waymen's space. Waymen, not women, he toldhimself sternly. The call of the Ether ... the vacuous void ... theblack velvet wastes ... the outspread cloak of the universe, drippingwith stardust ... the undreamt-of galaxies ... these were the thingsby 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 themistake was discovered, and this alone spared their lives. For hadthey 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 supplycloset--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 hedidn't seem well at all. Funny, he thought. They promise you if you goon working, work hard and don't fool around, don't ask questions, justdo your job, everything'll come your way. The next thing they're alldead, and there's nobody to complain to, even. Was it selfish to thinkof one's career at a time like this? No, he told himself. It was allhe knew. The Patrol was all that mattered!
He did some rapid calculation. They were far off the interplanetarytravel lanes; their fuel supply was down to a single can of kerosene;food for perhaps 2 days remained. As he listened to Ugh tuning hisviolin, scarcely audible over the squeakings and squealings thatfilled the spaceship, he realized that the only solution--the onlything that could save them, or the future of Earthmen--was for ashipload of beautiful dames to rescue them within the next 36 hours.
He figured the odds against this to be fifty billion to one--but Bradhad fought big odds before.
Grim-lipped, he shaved.
* * * * *