SWEET TOOTH By ROBERT F. YOUNG Illustrated by Nodel [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] / The aliens were quite impressed by Earth's technical marvels--they found them just delicious! Sugardale three miles, the state highway sign said. Dexter Foote turned into the side road that the arrow indicated. He had no way of knowing it at the time, but by his action he condemned his new convertible to a fate worse than death. The side road meandered down a long slope into a wooded hollow where a breeze born of cool bowers and shaded brooks made the July afternoon heat less oppressive. A quantity of the pique that had been with him ever since setting forth from the city departed. There were worse assignments, after all, than writing up a fallen star. Abruptly he applied the brakes and brought the convertible to a screeching halt. His blue eyes started from his boyish face. Well they might. The two Humpty Dumptyish creatures squatting in the middle of the road were as big as heavy tanks and, judging from their "skin tone," were constructed of similar material. They had arms like jointed cranes and legs like articulated girders. Their scissors-like mouths were slightly open, exposing maws the hue of an open hearth at tapping time. Either they were all body and no head, or all head and no body. Whichever was the case, they had both eyes and ears. The former had something of the aspect of peek holes in a furnace door, while the latter brought to mind lopsided Tv antennae. As Dexter watched, the foremost of the two metallic monsters advanced upon the convertible and began licking the chrome off the grill with a long, tong-like tongue. Meanwhile, its companion circled to the rear and took a big bite out of the trunk. There was an awesome CRUNCH! and the convertible gave a convulsive shudder. At this point, Dexter got out and ran. More accurately, he jumped out and ran. A hundred feet down the road, he stopped and turned. He was just in time to see monster No. 1 bite off the right headlight. CRUNCH! Not to be outdone, monster No. 2 bit off the right taillight. CRUNCH-CRUNCH! An acrid odor affronted Dexter's nostrils, and he discerned a faint yellow haze hovering about the convertible. The rear wheels went in two bites. The 250 H.P. motor required three. CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH! The upholstery caught fire and began to burn. A gout of flame shot up as the gas tank exploded. Far from discouraging the two monsters, the resultant inferno merely served to whet their appetites. CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CRUNCH!