Vern Fearing

“ His name was Metternich, known also as Foxey Gran'pa; he had spoken in capitals all over Europe and continued the practice since. "We Are Up Against It!" he went on. "The Fate Of The World May Be At Stake!"
"What's wrong, chief?" asked Brad, jauntily.
"Plenty!" roared Metternich. "Nobody's Attacking The Earth—That's What's Wrong! Nobody Is Out To Conquer The Universe! How Come, May I Ask?"
Brad gulped. Could he believe his ears? No one attacking good, kind, old Earth? Was there nothing in which a man could pin his faith, let alone his ears? ”

“ Well," said Brad. He could feel Duty tugging inside. Not for him the pipe and slippers. He was one of spaceway's men; he would go the spacemen's way, off into waymen's space. Waymen, not women, he told himself sternly. The call of the Ether ... the vacuous void ... the black velvet wastes ... the outspread cloak of the universe, dripping with stardust ... the undreamt-of galaxies ... these were the things by 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. ”

“ 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. ”