I shall do my best to describe the Field General commanding the hordes from Venus that are to conquer our earth in a few short years. I was sickened by the revelation that Oomlag was indeed no madman, but really one of an invincible vanguard with the world in their grasp. The Field General, as Oomlag had termed him, was a terrible thing to look upon. A tall figure, well over seven feet, with unbelievably long, skinny arms and legs, a torso like a pouter-pigeon, and above it, set on a short, thick neck, a head shaped like an ostrich egg. The head was entirely bald, covered with skin like parchment and of a most revolting ochre yellow color. The ears tapered almost to a point; the eyes, small and set close together, burned like those of a cat in the dark; the nose was very wide and flat, almost pig-like; and the mouth, thick-lipped and exceedingly wide, was doubly hideous due to the total absence of chin. In conversation later he revealed his teeth, the front four evidently filed to a point and the rest flat; all of a dark gray color. He was clothed in some sort of tight-fitting dull green garment which, together with a brick-red jacket or vest over his huge, round chest, gave him the appearance of a grotesque turnip. On his long, tapering feet he wore flat sandals held in place by thongs laced through the ends of his doublet, if I may call it that. His fingers were all long and of equal length, and he kept toying with some object resting in his lap. It looked like a bassoon without the mouthpiece. THE lights had now reached their maximum, giving the huge room the effect of being flooded by intensely bright moonlight. Behind me, and on all sides, stood scores of these creatures, similar in appearance to the Field General on the throne, except that they wore dull green jackets instead of brick-red. They stood motionless, regarding me stolidly with their smoldering, beady eyes. Oomlag stepped forward and saluted his commander with a sweeping motion of his right arm. He said something in a strange, guttural tongue, and the Field General evidently plied him with questions about me, for they kept up a long conversation, often glancing my way. Finally Oomlag turned to me. “The Field General wants to ask you a few questions,” he said, stepping to one side. The Field General regarded me intently for several moments. I quailed under the inspection of those calculating, cat-like, inhuman eyes of his. The only difference between him and what might be imagined in a nightmare was that he was the real thing--actual and horrible to look upon. With his loose, ochre lips exposing the sharp front teeth at every word, he spoke in a pronounced guttural accent, his English quite limited and hard to understand. “You work rock work?” he asked with difficulty. “Yes, sir,” I replied, my heart pounding against my ribs for all I could do to calm myself. “I’m a geologist.”