"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 gallstone theirselves!"
"Made it?" asked Brad, dully.
"Uh-huh." The old man spat Mercurian tobacco juice. "Just like on Earth, where myriad minute oceanic organisms pile their skeletons to form coral islands. Yuh see, the Sidemen eat radishes—love 'em, in fact—but it gives 'em gallstones. They claim this whole world is the collected gallstones of their ancestors." The old man wiped Mercurian tobacco juice from his beard and shoes. "Kind of a hard claim to beat," he opined.
"I see," said Brad. "That explains the misty swirling clouds all around 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 every time!"
Suddenly the High Kruv began to sob. "Now you see, don't you, why we haven't attacked Earth? A body can't keep his mind on anything around here! I asked for a few secret weapons, and what did I get?" He was blubbering 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 put an 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?"