The Shimmering Surprise

The rust-colored dust of Mars had settled, as it always did, into a fine, powdery blanket. For the jarred alien brains, life was a gentle, predictable cycle of observation and quiet contemplation. They floated in their transparent homes, their grey matter gently sloshing, their spindly arms occasionally reaching out to adjust a sock or to give a gentle tap on the glass of a neighbor’s jar. Most of them found this existence quite satisfactory, a peaceful hum of existence under the pale Martian sun. But then there was Brian.

Brian was, to put it mildly, different. For one thing, he wore socks. Not just any socks, mind you, but crisp, white socks with bold black stripes that hugged his curious, stubby legs. And for another, he had tap shoes. Oh, the tap shoes! They were a magnificent pair of spectator shoes, glossy black and gleaming white, with little metal taps on the toe and heel that seemed to hum with an energy all their own. While the other brains might ponder the philosophical implications of a particularly interesting rock formation, Brian would be practicing his shuffle-ball-change, the rhythmic clatter echoing softly across the Martian plains.

His friends, Zorp and Gleep, were usually perched nearby, their jarred faces pressed close to the glass, watching Brian’s energetic displays with a mixture of amusement and awe. Zorp, a brain of a more cautious disposition, would often sigh, a little puff of mist clouding his jar. "Brian," he'd say, his voice a low, rumbly sound, "are you sure that's wise? All that… clatter. What if it disturbs the Great Martian Sleep?"