When they finally saw the dimming glow of Steegman's hand lamp far down the corridor and hurried toward it, they saw that Steegman was not alone. He was dead, propped against the wall, in his Santa Claus suit. Even under the fake beard they could see he was smiling; and around him, whistling in distress as they tried to avoid the harsh glare of the approaching lights, were eight unbelievably, wholly unexpected, unarguably living and breathing Martians.