"Yes, Kir-Um, there is a creature in there. A strange, horrible _creature_, possessed of mad, meaningless thoughts. I--I wonder what _it_ looks like?" * * * * * Kir-Um pointed to a small, oddly-shaped aperture, which undoubtedly was some sort of device for locking the door. Hesitantly he stepped forward and placed his eye to the hole. Inside the room, Newt Jorgsen, the building's janitor, was hugely enjoying the contents of a letter he had retrieved from the wastebasket. Tears streamed from his blurry eyes and his bent, bony shoulders shook with spasms of laughter. His gunboat feet were planted firmly on the editor's desk and a tall bottle of beer, smuggled in by devious means and of which Newt was inordinately fond, sat on the floor at his side. The letter was from one Joe Carson and the mirth it provoked almost caused Newt to spill from his precarious perch and brought numerous, gleeful shouts of, "Oh, Yimminy!" from his foam-flecked lips. Kir-Um stared in amazement at this tableau and uttered a quick, staccato, "Ickly-unc!" Luckily, Newt did not hear the Martian's expression of surprise, but continued his perusal of the letter. Kir-Um drew back and silently motioned Harl to look. Harl sucked in his breath, but dutifully bent forward to the door. Newt had just placed the bottle to his lips and Harl gasped with horror as he half-emptied it, with one, tremendous gulp. On Mars, such wanton waste of moisture would be punished with swift death, without benefit of trial. But this wasn't Mars: this was Earth, the planet of abundance. Kir-Um plucked at Harl's sleeve. "Why do we cringe at the sight of this _creature_, Harl?" he whispered. "After all, _it_ is no more repulsive than are these wretched bodies we have nobly assumed, for the glory of our race. We are great, Harl. Unselfishly, we have foregone the pleasures and conveniences of our magnificent physiques, so that our civilization might once again take its rightful place in the destiny of our System." Harl's mind wistfully conjured a picture of his own, splendid body, with its bulbous head, sleek, furry torso and many sensitive tentacles, and he sighed heavily. "Yes, we are truly martyrs. My only regret is, I have but nine tentacles to give for my species." The two ceased their council of self-glorification and stood "listening" to the thoughts of the Being inside. Their first impression was that the Earthman was insane, so the mad cogitations of his mind would indicate. Such random notions as: "Corner drugstore ... BEM ... Amphibious Android ... Trimmed edges ..." had no significance to them. But, quite suddenly, they picked up a thought that electrified their very beings and caused a quick glance of fear to pass between them. At the same time, it was a glance of elation, for here they had found what was probably Earth's most invulnerable armament. Intently, they concentrated on the astonishing thought unraveling in the creature's brain.