Professor Thompson Tang Gao & the Creatures from Planet X

By Robert Burke Richardson


Professor Thompson Tang Gao, rationalist, adjusted his telescope and glanced at the grandfather clock that stood against the wall of his well-appointed sitting room: he still had a few minutes. A large part of the view had become obscured when the other space vessels arrived, but the patch of stars Gao wanted remained clear. Free of the obscuring effects of a planetary atmosphere, Neptune was just visible as a blurred gray disc. It was the twinkling vastness beyond Neptune, however, that had so powerfully captured his imagination. Could there, he wondered again, be a ninth planet?

Reluctantly, Gao placed the telescope in its case, wiping its gleaming surfaces and taking special care with the lenses. He removed his bifocals and searched his desk drawer for reading glasses and a pen. An ornate bottle, its supply of India ink nearly extinguished, was deemed harmless enough to be placed on the antique desk: even rationalists could be clumsy, from time to time.

He dated an entry February first, 1882 and began, in flowing letters, to write:

The ninth planet--Planet X--must be extremely cold, owing to its great distance from the sun. Another consequence of this distance would be the appearance of the sun itself: Planet Xers should see it as only the size of an average star, though exceedingly bright.

Biological peculiarities will correspond, principally, to eyesight (because of the lack of light) and a heightened ability to retain heat. Technological diverseness would probably stem from the landscape, which I imagine to be snowy and windswept, like the highest peaks of Olympus Mons.

The grandfather clock chimed, signaling the change of the hour, and Morovan entered with a tray of tea, a Venutian, and two Martians. Morovan was a moon-man and a freak of eugenics, as his four-foot stature revealed. He was, quite probably, the tallest moon-man who had ever lived. Gao concentrated for a moment on the special glasses he had constructed for Morovan: living underground, as moon-men were wont to do, he had exceptionally poor eyesight. Like a planet Xer, Gao thought, before chiding himself, and pulling his mind back to the moment.

It wasn’t Morovan’s glasses or his small pink eyes that Gao should have noticed, but rather their concerned expression. “It’s alright,” the professor said softly as Morovan poured his tea. The moon-man poured tea for the three guests as well and then retreated to the back of the room, but did not exit. He was too suspicious, by nature, to leave his master unattended.

“Chancellor Varantus,” Gao acknowledged the Venutian first, for they had been previously acquainted.

The chancellor spared Gao a nod of his head and returned the greeting. “Hello, Thompson.” Tall and slender, Varantus had very delicate features and golden skin and although it was somewhat uncommon for a Venutian male to hold such a high post, he had performed his duties with distinction. “Allow me to introduce the Martian ambassador and his aide, Brassen.”

Gao examined the Martians much more openly than would have been polite with a Venutian or another human. The ambassador had long white hair, which complemented his pale green skin, and a long white beard. One hand clutched a ceremonial spear, replete with feathers, but the other three rested comfortably in his lap. A thinker, Gao noted.

Brassen, the aide, contrasted his companion markedly. His muscled skin was a much deeper green and bones and feathers decorated his long spear. He had twisted his black hair into a well-oiled queue, a brash statement considering the extremely flammable nature of Martian hair-oil. The point of greatest departure, however, was the aide’s expression: everything about his demeanor showed that he considered their presence there a mistake.

“I presume,” Gao said amiably, “that this is not just a social visit?”

“We have need of your awesome power,” the ambassador said without preamble. Gao suppressed a smile: the Martians were a formidable people but their faith in certain myths was misplaced.

He looked to Varantus for explanation. “We were holding a secret interplanetary conference on an asteroid,” the chancellor explained. “There have been some complications.” Well known as the peacekeepers of the solar system, the Venutians had arranged the “secret” meetings. Gao, and anyone else in the know, had heard about the conference weeks earlier.

“So,” said Gao. “You have need of the Liebniz machine.” The Liebniz machine was the source of much of Gao’s reputation and the reason that a lone Earthman often had a say in interplanetary politics. The machine had been created by the philosopher Gottfried Von Liebniz and passed down through the generations by a secret society. It was, essentially, a reasoning machine, drawing logically necessary conclusions from available facts at an astonishing rate.

To the obvious annoyance of his aide, the Martian ambassador asked, “Will you help us, Professor Gao?”

To the big Martian’s further annoyance, Gao replied in the affirmative.

Gao walked the diplomats to the sitting room door but let Morovan guide them the rest of the way. Taking the great key from his pocket, Gao walked down the hall and unlocked a door. Here stood the Leibniz machine, the small chair and desk before it dwarfed by its daunting size. Gleaming chrome with wooden levers, the machine covered an entire wall and occupied half the floor.

Gao sat at the desk and stared at the rows of knobs and levers. He knew he should begin developing formulas to help him with the peace conference problem but his mind became suddenly and uncharacteristically unfocused.

This is all wrong. The thought came unbidden to his mind, an echo of a dream he’d had almost two weeks before. Since that time he had been plagued with the feeling that reality itself had become other than what it should have been. In moments like this--when the uncanny mood of the dream imposed itself on Gao’s waking mind--even human reasoning and intuition felt suspect, as if Descartes’ disturbing vision of an all-powerful evil will distorting truth and perception had come to pass.

Gao shook his head, took up the pencil, and began setting knobs. He needed to focus on cold hard logic and the derivations of the machine. He needed to find answers to the vague puzzle Varantus had presented him with--for his own peace of mind, as much as for the solar community.

#

The trip to the asteroid would have taken the Monadic Universe days and would have required constant stoking of the fire. The Venutia, on which Gao now stood, would make the journey in an hour and--thanks to its perpetual motion machines--expend no fuel. Gao had once, with the help of the Liebniz machine, tried to model the engine by inserting random numbers for the variables. He developed a huge system of balanced equations (3+5 balanced by a symmetrical 10-2, for instance) joined in the center by 2=1. Gao had never unraveled this particular mystery, and the Venutians seemed unable to explain it.

The chime sounded and the door to Gao’s quarters slid open revealing Vivan, the chancellor’s daughter. On Earth, with her elf-like features, golden skin, and seven-foot frame, she would surely have been thought an angel.

Gao moved to the kettle, just now coming to a boil, switched off the heating element, and poured a pot of tea.

“The usual arrangement?” she asked.

Gao nodded, preparing two cups with cream and honey while the tea steeped. As the daughter of a Venutian chancellor, Vivan had access to certain information; as the lone Earthman in space, Gao had English Breakfast tea: sometimes, interspecies relationships were just that easy.

“What’s the situation?” he asked, handing her a cup.

“Well,” she said after sipping her tea. “It’s pretty bad. Murder. One of our clerks was found dead.”

As a humanist--if that term had meaning in an interplanetary community--Gao valued life very highly, but he also knew that killing could be a very effective monkey wrench to throw into the machinery of an interplanetary peace-conference. The death might even provoke a resumption of hostilities between Mars and Venus. No wonder they desired outside council.

“And,” Vivan continued, “no one knows how it was done. A large part of the asteroid is enclosed and contains the universal atmospheric simulator, but only parts of it are heated. Somehow, someone must have traveled through the unheated sections.”

“Or so it may seem,” the professor counseled his young friend. “Please refrain from adding your own--or others’--suppositions.”

Vivan nodded. “Right. I always forget that part.”

Gao nodded and removed a box of tea from the small chest he had brought over from the Monadic Universe. Vivan accepted the box, completing the transaction.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said, moving to the door and sliding it open. “And be careful.”

Gao smiled. “I always am.”

Vivan rolled her purple-flecked eyes. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, removing two small stone figures from a pouch on the front of her gown. “For your collection.” She handed the figures to Gao.

“Thank you,” he said as she left. Ancient Venutian carvings were a hobby of his, and the two she handed him now were quite a find. One resembled a hearth, the other the Venutian goddess of light. They appeared to be comprised of a flint-like material.

Anxious to analyze the new data, Gao slipped the figures into his pocket and went immediately to his notebook to begin translating the information into symbols. He had run several simulations on the Leibniz machine before leaving and decided to use the traveling time to fine-tune his equations.

#

The heated section of the asteroid was one large, enclosed space. An iron door at the opposite end marked the room in which the murder took place. Vivan was right, thought Gao. It would be very hard indeed for someone to enter that room unnoticed.

Intimate circles of stuffed chairs had been set up as well as longer conference tables, giving delegates relaxed, informal areas in which to work. Checking the ceiling, Gao noticed elaborate perches, presumably for the Europan delegates. He found the chairs tempting but didn’t want to appear weak in front of the Martians, whose gravity-intensive planet bred extremely strong people.

“This is the only heated area?” asked Gao, directing his question to both Varantus and the Martian ambassador.

“I’ll summon our experts,” said Varantus, his body lengthening. Venutians had a looser bone structure than most humanoids, allowing them to increase or decrease their body surface in order to regulate temperature. It also provided them with a unique way to get each other’s attention.

A beautiful Venutian, taller even than Varantus, came striding over with a very small Martian. Gao cast a glance at Varantus, thinking he had perhaps misjudged the chancellor’s political cunning. Martians valued physical prowess, so pairing this physically striking Venutian with such an uncharacteristically puny Martian gave the Venutian expert the advantage.

“You must be Professor Gao,” said the little Martian, taking the professor’s hand in two of his own. “I’m Yelm.” He carried no spear and wore spectacles thicker than Morovan’s. “My colleague and I are more than happy to answer any technical questions you might have.”

Contrary to Gao’s expectations, Yelm seemed to be the dominant expert, so he addressed his next question to him. “Is this room the only heated area?”

Yelm glanced at his Venutian counterpart, giving her the option of answering, then looked back to Gao. “The atmospheric simulator covers half the asteroid. But this room, and the small room beyond,” he indicated the iron door with a nod of his head, “are the only heated sections.”

“And what would happen,” Gao asked, “if we shut down the life-support system?”

Yelm and his colleague exchanged dubious glances. “We would be unable to start it up again,” said the Venutian, her voice lovely and lilting. “The generator would have to be reset, and it is too large to keep within the heated sections.”

“And do you have heat-suits, in case of emergencies?”

“No,” said Yelm. “For security purposes, we allowed no heat-suits.”

“Then what would happen if the life-support failed?”

Yelm turned his gaze to Brassen, and so did Gao. The big Martian sneered as if being addressed by Yelm were an insult to his status. “There are heat-suits and technicians on both the Venutia and the Crimson Storm. And both ships watch each other to protect against unauthorized access to the asteroid.”

“But you both just left to fetch me,” Gao pointed-out. “What if there had been an emergency in that time?”

“The atmosphere would last several hours, even if the generator failed,” said Yelm. “We would have been growing rather cold by the time the ships returned, but we would have survived.”

“Why all this interest in such minutia, Thompson?” asked Varantus.

“I want to shut down the life-support,” said Gao. Even Brassen looked surprised at that.

“I must recommend the greatest caution,” said the Venutian expert. “You’ll endanger us all.”

“I too must protest this extreme measure,” said Varantus. “It is reckless.”

“Not so,” said Gao. “You believe no one here has the power to move about in the unheated sections. We must test this hypothesis. If someone has the ability, they will surely act to repair the generator.”

“I support the move,” said the Ambassador, thumping the ground with his spear. “Is it the will of the machine?”

The Leibniz machine never yielded such specific information, but Gao wasn’t about to alienate his only advocate. “It is the will of the Leibniz Machine,” he lied.

The Ambassador turned to Yelm. “Shut off the life-support.”

Yelm frowned. “Alright. But I have to warn you, there will be a few moments of darkness before the back-up lights kick in. We should warn the delegates.”

“No,” said Gao. “No warnings.”

The party began to move forwards but Gao stepped in front of Brassen. The big Martian stopped and glared, contempt in his eyes. Gao’s heart beat a little faster.

“When the lights go off,” he said, trying to keep the squeak out of his voice, “I want you to see how each of the delegates reacts.”

“I can’t watch them all,” said Brassen.

“No. But I want you to help me see who comports themselves the best in the dark.”

“Find another,” said Brassen. “You are a charlatan and I wish only to see you fail.” He turned to rejoin the party, which had already traveled some distance.

“That’s why no other will do,” Gao said loudly. Brassen turned, responding to the challenge in his tone. “I need someone who will be critical of my findings. For veracity’s sake.”

Brassen nodded curtly and stalked off.

Gao sat heavily in one of the comfortable chairs. When dealing with Martians--Martians like Brassen, particularly--one had to back up words with an implicit threat of violence. With Gao, this position was always a bluff and he was very glad Brassen hadn’t called it. Something dug into his thigh and Gao forced a hand into his pocket. In his excitement, he had forgotten to remove the stone carvings.

Varantus’ party stood on the other end of the room now, Yelm’s hand on a lever. Brassen stood a little ways off, studying delegates. Frowning his disapproval, Yelm pulled the lever and darkness descended.

Gao heard squawks, roars, and astonished shouts. Malicious eyes sought him in the dark and the disquiet of his dream threatened to overtake him again. He remembered then that his interest in Planet X had been sparked by the dream--though he couldn’t say why--and he imagined the planet, drifting in the frozen ether, shadowy beings beaming hate towards him.

But he shook off the troubling imaginings. He felt guilty for the surprise he had caused, and probably projected that emotion into the unseen crowd. Gao hoped no one would be hurt, but a theory had formed in the back of his mind, and he needed to test it.

Lights flickered on, dim and gray. Varantus addressed the delegates, telling them that an accident had occurred but that everything was now under control. Everyone but Brassen and Varantus’ party, who had known what to expect, had been thoroughly discombobulated. One or two of the Europans had even fallen from their perches.

Gao headed towards Varantus. It had been a silly notion, he realized now, but he had hoped the momentary darkness might reveal an individual--disguised, of course--who could see in the dark. And an individual who could see in the dark and withstand the cold beyond the conference-room would be an interesting find indeed.

Brassen caught Gao’s eye, his expression indicating he had seen nothing out of the ordinary. Gao nodded.

“What now?” Varantus asked.

“Now we hope someone gets the generator working. Whoever does that is the killer.”

“And if no one does?”

“Then you contact your ship and have someone get things in order before we freeze to death. I’d like to examine the room now.”

The party moved towards the iron door and Varantus explained that only he and the Martian ambassador held keys to it. He opened the door and Gao entered alone.

Searching for the switch by the pale illumination that came through the partially open door, Gao noticed that colder air filled the room. It made sense: the multiplicity of bodies in the large conference area provided heat and most of the heating elements were located there as well. Gao switched the light on and saw another reason for the cold: a small door stood at the back of the office, leading out to the unheated sections.

The room held a desk and a great many canvas-draped filing cabinets. Gao imagined a poor Venutian clerk working through the voluminous paper work, killed in order to stall the peace-process. “Your killer will be caught,” Gao promised.

Moving a hand near the outer door, Gao felt intense cold. The door had no lock. Intent on finding out just how cold the unheated sections were, Gao slipped a canvas cover off one of the filing cabinets and wrapped it around his shoulders. With some difficulty, the door opened.

Frost covered the rocky area beyond, formed probably from moisture escaping the conference room. Gao took a tentative step, crunching frost under his shoe. Diaphanous mist, his breath lingered in the gloomy cavern, obscuring the boulders and shadowy passages.

“Treachery!” came a shout from directly behind him. His heart leaped in his chest and he spun around to see Brassen, frowning in the twilight.

“Idiot!” Gao yelled, shoving the big Martian. “You scared me half to death.”

Rocks tumbled in the distance and Gao snapped his head around, seeking the source. “What is that?” Brassen asked. “I thought I saw a shape. A figure in the darkness.”

The door slammed shut, a booming that reverberated in the cavernous gloom. Gao and Brassen exchanged concerned looks. “There’s no lock,” said Gao. “Try the door.” Brassen gripped the handle with two strong hands. When it didn’t budge, he tried three.

Gao stepped towards the door. Some heat bled through from the inside. Toes numbing already, he shuffled his feet as close as possible. “How long will it take them to look for us?” he asked. “Did they send you in?”

“I snuck in,” said Brassen. He had relinquished his hold on the door and rubbed two of his arms with the other two. “To keep an eye on you.”

Gao snorted. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas for getting back inside?”

A blood-curdling shriek cut Brassen’s response short. Crouching low, he raised his spear, quick eyes studying the distance. Gao found himself suddenly grateful for the Martian’s company.

“I don’t think it’s nearby,” Gao said. “Judging by the amount of echo.”

Brassen made a shushing sound, his attention focused on the area where the rocks had spilled. Another shriek sounded, much closer. A response, thought Gao.

“There are two,” Brassen said quietly. “The farther one has come from inside.”

“How do you know that?” Gao asked.

Brassen glared at him. “I will kill you if you don’t remain silent.”

Gao shuffled behind Brassen, wiping frost from his pant legs as quietly as possible. Another blood-curdling shriek sounded, answered a moment later by an earsplitting screech. They wanted to kill me, Gao surmised. Trapping Brassen was just bad luck. Now, they’re deciding how to proceed.

Gao wouldn’t be much help in a physical confrontation so he quieted his mind, focusing it on the creatures, hoping he could deduce something that would be of use to Brassen. The exaggerated lung and vocal capacity of the Shriekers, as Gao had come to think of them, suggested a reliance on sound not only for communication, but also for location. This in turn suggested that eyesight played a lesser role in their biology. Gao wanted to tell Brassen, but feared another rebuke.

Two more shrieks sounded, both farther away. “They’re retreating,” said Gao.

Grim and brooding, Brassen nodded. “To let the cold do the killing for them.”

Gao opened the front of his canvas cover and motioned for Brassen to move closer. When he didn’t respond, Gao said, “We need to rely on body heat to survive.”

“You’ll die first, old man.”

“Yes,” Gao allowed. “Then you’ll die. Then the other delegates, along with your ambassador. You don’t think these Shriekers will leave anyone alive, do you? They’ve had to alter their plans now and my guess is they’re moving to destroy everything.”

Brassen came closer, stooping, and Gao draped the canvas over the Martian’s head. “Now move around,” he said. “Generate heat.”

“This is pointless,” said Brassen. “We need to get back inside.”

“Where is the nearest entrance?”

“Where we entered when we arrived.”

It was too far. Gao could no longer feel his extremities and he feared frost-bight. “How do the Shriekers get in and out? They must have a secret way.”

“But we do not know it,” Brassen pointed out. “You are renowned for your reasoning abilities. Find a way in.”

Gao bit his lip, partially to help him concentrate, partially to confirm that it was still there. He had considered knocking, but no one would hear, unless they had entered the administrative room. The fact that no one had come to check on them suggested they either hadn’t heard the door slam shut, or that it couldn’t be opened from the inside either.

Gao’s mind raced. A sublime pain entered his body, a ticklish warmth that lulled him to stillness. We are freezing to death, he realized. Worse than that, he could think of no way to prevent it.

A solution to every puzzle, he told himself. An answer to every problem. But no solution came to his mind. He met Brassen’s gaze, shamed by the hope he saw there. He had failed him. He had failed them all.

A click. The door swung open, a mist of warm air visible in the dim cavern light. Gao willed his sluggish limbs to move and headed through the door.

The room was pitch black when the door clanged shut. “What’s going on?” Gao asked.

“The lights went off,” he heard Varantus say. “It took us a little while to find the room in all the chaos, and longer still to get the door open. The Ambassador had to cut a sticky substance off it with his spear.”

Symbols danced before Gao’s eyes as his thoughts organized themselves. Darkness was the key after all: the Shriekers had cut the lights to give themselves an advantage. And one of them had been inside, all along. The only people unaffected by the first blackout were the members of Varantus’ party, so one of them must have been the creature, in disguise. But which one?

“Has anyone had contact with Yelm since the blackout?” he asked.

“Not since before the blackout,” came the lilt of the Venutian expert. “He went to check on the communications array, in case we needed to contact the ships.”

“Yelm is the killer,” said Gao, hoping Yelm had only sabotaged the lights, and not their ability to contact the ships. “Or one of the killers, at least.”

“You must be mistaken,” came the voice of the ambassador. “Why would Yelm betray us?”

“Because,” Gao said simply. “He is not who he appears to be. He comes from the ninth planet: Planet X.”

A shriek sounded, very near. “I’m giving away their secret!” said Gao, knowing that while the Shrieker focused on him, it couldn’t cause any other mischief. He sensed movement and heard a spear slice the air. Something crashed into the filing cabinets. Brassen must have batted the thing away, mid-leap.

“Everyone drop!” yelled Gao. “Take cover!” At least five people crowded the small room, and Brassen needed space to swing his spear. Gao dropped to the floor and the stone figures in his pocket dug into his half-frozen hip.

More movement. Brassen cried out. Gao wanted to ask how badly he was hurt, but he knew the Martian warrior concentrated deeply, each sound a clue to the whereabouts of his enemy.

Shuffling and a shriek. Brassen cried out again. In the dark, the Shrieker had too much of an advantage.

Brassen planted a brawny leg in front of Gao, cold still radiating from it, and inspiration sparked. Grabbing Brassen’s pants, Gao pulled himself to his feet and withdrew the stone figures.

Two shrieks sounded simultaneously and something tore a gash in Gao’s half-frozen arm. Both Shriekers, he thought. Brassen trembled, staggered by a blow. They’re toying with us.

Gao raised the stone figures and struck them together. A tiny spark burst into existence and vanished just as quickly. He did it again. On the third try, Brassen’s oil-soaked queue burst into flame and his assailants became partially visible in the flickering green light. They reminded Gao of Earth penguins, but with sharp cone-shaped talons instead of hands, and terrible sunken eyes.

Brassen skewered the nearest one in the leg, then hefted his spear, dragging the Shrieker with it, and batted the other one out into the conference room. Gao watched both creatures fly into the darkness, then smothered the flame on Brassen’s head with his canvas cover.

“Kreenk-face!” yelled the Martian. “They’ll escape now!”

“Let them,” said Gao. “We have to contact the ships. Tell them to stop any vessel trying to leave. And have them get the generator working again.”

A communicator beeped. “I have the Venutia,” said Varantus, and Gao sighed relief: Yelm hadn’t sabotaged their communications after all. “A small ship disguised as an asteroid just departed. Should they pursue?”

Gao considered it. “No,” he said finally. He had accomplished what he had come here to do. And there was no telling what other mischief the Shriekers had caused. “Getting the generator up and running is the ship’s first priority. And tell them to watch out for booby-traps.”

Shivering, Gao felt for the charred canvas sheet and wrapped it over his shoulders again.

“What now?” asked Brassen. Breath rasped in his lungs and his voice trembled slightly, a testament to the wounds he had endured.

“Now?” said Gao. “We wait.”

#

“Tea,” said Gao, stepping through the air lock and back onto the Monadic Universe. Morovan stiffened slightly at Gao’s bandaged arm but nodded curtly and left to perform his task.

“Have the ambassador meet us in my sitting room, please,” Gao said as Varantus stepped through. He knew it would be most proper to accompany the chancellor himself, but Varantus knew the way and Gao had been fantasizing about the beaver-pelt coat hanging in his closet. He had been unable to raise his core temperature since his misadventures in the unheated sections of the asteroid.

Gao changed all of his clothes, wrapped himself in the luxurious coat, and found his guests waiting patiently in his sitting room. He waved a quick hello, then put the teacup to his lips. The liquid warmed him but did little to stop the shivers that periodically trembled his hands.

He caught a look of disdain from Brassen, who had not only stopped shivering but had almost completely recovered from his battle wounds. Gao shrugged slightly, as if to say “I’m only human,” but Brassen appeared unmoved. Gao had believed he had forged a certain bond with the big Martian. He corrected this perception now.

Varantus smiled weakly. Despite the fact that they had safely evacuated all of the diplomats, he continued to consider his peace conference an unqualified disaster.

“Buck up, man!” said Gao. “The conference was a resounding success.” Both Varantus and the Martian ambassador looked skeptical, but Brassen nodded. “Not only did the Planet Xers fail to drive a wedge between the peoples of the inner solar system, but the conference allowed us to uncover the existence of their threat.”

Gao poured himself another cup and turned to Morovan, who waited patiently. “Please draw a bath,” he said. “A hot one.”

Gao looked at his guests--his friends--sizing them up. Their motivations, he realized, were the same as his. Each had inner demons, and each strove to make the universe a safer place to quell them. Knowing that his friends shared a burden similar to his own, and that human reasoning had solved an important problem, made living with the strange dream less debilitating.

“The Martian ambassador is a man of peace,” said Gao. “And he can use the threat of Planet X to convince his people to continue to ally with yours, Chancellor.”

Varantus stood up, as did the ambassador. Clasping one of his counterpart’s hands, Varantus said, “It was an honor serving with you and I hope we will meet again soon.”

The ambassador bowed formally, then turned to Gao. “The Martian people are in your debt,” he said.

Gao accompanied his guests to the sitting room’s exit and watched the chancellor and ambassador leave. “Brassen,” he called, and the Martian turned back. “I just wanted to tell you that I consider myself in your debt.”

Brassen stared down at him for a long moment. “I will remember that,” he said. He turned and left.

Gao moved to the picture window, taking in the great black spaces and twinkling lights, not knowing which one might be home to the Shriekers. Despite the solidarity the attack had engendered, the stars had become a lot less friendly.

A hint of steam fogged the window and Gao turned away from it, ready to trade his fears for soap and warm water.


Click here to buy a print copy of this story in Amazing Heroes vol. 1. Click here to read episode two in The Adventures of Professor Thompson Tang Gao, "The Case of the Martian Ambassador," at Would That It Were.