Mars or Venus. But the Nevians--

The horizontal, flat, fish body is not so bad, even supported as it is
by four, short, powerful, scaly, flat-footed legs; and terminating as it
does in the weird, four-vaned tail. The neck, even, is endurable,
although it is long and flexible, heavily scaled, and is carried in
whatever eye-wringing loops, knots, or angles the owner considers most
convenient or ornamental at the time. Even the smell of a Nevian--a
malodorous reek of over-ripe fish--does in time become tolerable,
especially if sufficiently disguised with creosote, which purely
Terrestrial chemical is the most highly prized perfume of Nevia. But the
head! It is that member that makes the Nevian so appalling to earthly
eyes, for it is a thing utterly foreign to all Solarian history or
experience. As most Tellurians already know, it is fundamentally a
massive cone, covered with scales, based spearhead-like upon the neck.
Four great sea-green, triangular eyes are spaced equidistant from each
other about half way up the cone. The pupils are contractile at will,
like the eyes of the cat, permitting the Nevian to see equally well in
any ordinary extreme of light or darkness. Immediately below each eye
springs out a long, jointless, boneless, tentacular arm; an arm which at
its extremity divides into eight delicate and sensitive, but very
strong, fingers. Below each arm is a mouth: a beaked, needle-tusked
orifice of dire potentialities. Finally, under the overhanging edge of
the cone-shaped head are the delicately frilled organs which serve
either as gills or as nostrils and lungs, as may be desired. To other
Nevians the eyes and other features are highly expressive, but to us
they appear utterly cold and unmoving. Terrestrial senses can detect no
changes of expression in a Nevian's "face." Such were the frightful
beings at whom the three prisoners stared with sinking hearts.

But if we human beings have always considered Nevians grotesque and
repulsive, the feeling has always been mutual. For those "monstrous"
beings are a highly intelligent and extremely sensitive race, and
our--to us--trim and graceful human forms seems to them the very
quintessence of malformation and hideousness.

"Good Heavens, Conway!" Clio exclaimed, shrinking against Costigan as
his left arm flashed around her. "What monstrosities! And they can't
talk--not one of them has made a sound--suppose they can be deaf and
dumb?"

But at the same time Nerado