The Martian War by Kevin J. Anderson Page A

the gas lamps shone on his pallid skin.
    As Wells stood speechless with surprise, the stark-naked man sprinted up to him like a foolish prankster. Before Wells could react, the grinning chemist playfully slapped him on the top of the head—then dashed off.
    “You can’t see me! I’m invisible!” Griffin sprinted away, chuckling as if he had played a very clever practical joke.
    “Here now, Dr. Griffin! Wait!”
    Griffin kept running, his bare feet slapping on the waxed wooden floor. He called in a singsong voice, “I’m invisible, invisible! Ha ha!”
    Wells brushed his hair back into place, indignant that the unclothed man would do such a silly thing. He trotted after the nude scientist, following him down the hall, but Griffin picked up speed.
    Rounding a corner, Wells saw the naked man skid to a halt. Barrel-chested Dr. Cavor stood in the middle of the hall, beefy arms crossed over his chest. Cavor’s lower lip protruded from his square jaw in an expression of great disapproval. “Hawley Griffin, what on Earth are you doing?”
    The naked man snickered as if concocting a devious plan. He bobbed back and forth, then tried to dart around the other scientist, but Cavor reached out and snatched Griffin’s arms.
    The chemist squawked. “Stop! You can’t catch me. You can’t even see me.”
    “You’re having delusions again, Hawley.”
    “No, I’m invisible! How did you catch me? You can’t know where I am.”
    “Yes, we can, Hawley.”
    Breathless and panting, Wells arrived. “Dr. Cavor, what is he doing?”
    The materials scientist just shook his head. Griffin turned around, his bristly hair glistening with sweat. He tried to break away again, but Cavor held the man’s wrist with all his strength. Wells helped to keep Griffin steady.
    “It’s rather like The Emperor’s New Clothes, you know,” Cavor muttered.
    The naked man finally stopped struggling. His shoulders slumped as he looked around in dismal disappointment. “You … you can really see me? Both of you?”
    “Yes,” Wells and Cavor said in unison.
    With a deep sigh, Griffin surrendered. “Then it must have worn off.”
    “I’m sure it did. Come now, Mr. Wells and I will escort you back to your room. You’ve had enough excitement for tonight, and you need some sleep. Our symposium starts in two days, you know.”
    “Yes, yes, and I must perfect my formula by that time!”
    “Does he have a … smoking jacket or something?” Wells asked.
    “Yes, but it’s invisible, too!” Griffin insisted as the two escorted him back to his room.

CHAPTER SIX
AN UNINVITED GUEST AT THE SYMPOSIUM
    O n the day of the symposium, Wells arrived in the lecture hall early enough to get a spot in the front row. He wasn’t entirely sure what Huxley expected of him, but he did not intend to disappoint the professor. It was an unparalleled opportunity.
    He settled himself in a varnished wooden chair and took out his papers and a lead pencil. He didn’t want to miss a word that was said. In the center of the oratory stage, a dark wooden lectern stood like a pulpit. Remembering Huxley’s showmanship when lecturing his biology students, Wells hoped the old professor still had his rhetorical abilities.
    One by one, scientists filed in. Some still wore stained laboratory coats; many had tousled hair and bloodshot eyes, as ifthey had continued working through the night and all morning, trying to squeeze out one more result. Several men wore formal jackets, as if they expected an audience with the queen.
    Wells was surprised to note impressive representatives filing in on the other side of the room. He recognized Prime Minister Gladstone himself, who had served in his post four times since 1868 in an alternating dance with his conservative rivals, the Marquis of Salisbury and Benjamin Disraeli. Numerous admirals and generals of the Imperial armed forces sat beside the prime minister in stiff, formal uniforms.
    Wells surveyed them with amazement. The presence of