THE BRIDES OF OOL
By M. A. CUMMINGS
The Goddess of Love had never showered Ool with
her favors. He was the saddest lover this side
of Io ... either that, or the most skillful lady
killer since the invention of Gilk's death-ray.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
As the soft tones of the morning gong sounded through the cabin Ool yawned and stretched. Then he grinned, remembering. This was the first morning of his honeymoon. Of course, honeymoons were even more out-of-date than marriage services. But Loris had wanted both and Ool was willing to let her have her way.
Funny to think that after all this time Loris was really his. His hand caressed the form lying beside him, the flesh smooth and cold as marble.
Cold! He sat up suddenly, staring at the girl. The pearly lustre of her skin had faded to a chalky white, and he could see no sign of breathing. Frantically he felt for a heartbeat. There was none. Loris—his beautiful Loris, was dead.