The Delegate from Venus

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  The DELEGATE FROM VENUS

  By HENRY SLESAR

  ILLUSTRATOR NOVICK

  _Everybody was waiting to see what the delegate from Venus looked like. And all they got for their patience was the biggest surprise since David clobbered Goliath._

  "Let me put it this way," Conners said paternally. "We expect a certainamount of decorum from our Washington news correspondents, and that'sall I'm asking for."

  Jerry Bridges, sitting in the chair opposite his employer's desk, chewedon his knuckles and said nothing. One part of his mind wanted him toplay it cagey, to behave the way the newspaper wanted him to behave, toprotect the cozy Washington assignment he had waited four years to get.But another part of him, a rebel part, wanted him to stay on the trailof the story he felt sure was about to break.

  The saucer was interesting, but where was thedelegate?]

  "I didn't mean to make trouble, Mr. Conners," he said casually. "It justseemed strange, all these exchanges of couriers in the past two days. Icouldn't help thinking something was up."

  "Even if that's true, we'll hear about it through the usual channels,"Conners frowned. "But getting a senator's secretary drunk to obtaininformation--well, that's not only indiscreet, Bridges. It's downrightdirty."

  Jerry grinned. "I didn't take _that_ kind of advantage, Mr. Conners. Notthat she wasn't a toothsome little dish ..."

  "Just thank your lucky stars that it didn't go any further. And from nowon--" He waggled a finger at him. "Watch your step."

  Jerry got up and ambled to the door. But he turned before leaving andsaid:

  "By the way. What do _you_ think is going on?"

  "I haven't the faintest idea."

  "Don't kid me, Mr. Conners. Think it's war?"

  "That'll be all, Bridges."

  * * * * *

  The reporter closed the door behind him, and then strolled out of thebuilding into the sunlight.

  He met Ruskin, the fat little AP correspondent, in front of thePan-American Building on Constitution Avenue. Ruskin was holding thenewspaper that contained the gossip-column item which had started thewhole affair, and he seemed more interested in the romantic rather thanpolitical implications. As he walked beside him, he said:

  "So what really happened, pal? That Greta babe really let down herhair?"

  "Where's your decorum?" Jerry growled.

  Ruskin giggled. "Boy, she's quite a dame, all right. I think they oughtto get the Secret Service to guard her. She really fills out a size 10,don't she?"

  "Ruskin," Jerry said, "you have a low mind. For a week, this town hasbeen acting like the _39 Steps_, and all you can think about is dames.What's the matter with you? Where will you be when the big mushroomcloud comes?"

  "With Greta, I hope," Ruskin sighed. "What a way to get radioactive."

  They split off a few blocks later, and Jerry walked until he came to theRed Tape Bar & Grill, a favorite hangout of the local journalists. Therewere three other newsmen at the bar, and they gave him snickeringgreetings. He took a small table in the rear and ate his meal in sullensilence.

  It wasn't the newsmen's jibes that bothered him; it was the certaintythat something of major importance was happening in the capitol. Therehad been hourly conferences at the White House, flying visits by StateDepartment officials, mysterious conferences involving members of theScience Commission. So far, the byword had been secrecy. They knew thatSenator Spocker, chairman of the Congressional Science Committee, hadbeen involved in every meeting, but Senator Spocker was unavailable. Hissecretary, however, was a little more obliging ...

  Jerry looked up from his coffee and blinked when he saw who was comingthrough the door of the Bar & Grill. So did every other patron, but fordifferent reasons. Greta Johnson had that effect upon men. Even theconfining effect of a mannishly-tailored suit didn't hide heroutrageously feminine qualities.

  She walked straight to his table, and he stood up.

  "They told me you might be here," she said, breathing hard. "I justwanted to thank you for last night."

  "Look, Greta--"

  _Wham!_ Her hand, small and delicate, felt like a slab of lead when itslammed into his cheek. She left a bruise five fingers wide, and thenturned and stalked out.

  * * * * *

  He ran after her, the restaurant proprietor shouting about the unpaidbill. It took a rapid dog-trot to reach her side.

  "Greta, listen!" he panted. "You don't understand about last night. Itwasn't the way that lousy columnist said--"

  She stopped in her tracks.

  "I wouldn't have minded so much if you'd gotten me drunk. But to _use_me, just to get a story--"

  "But I'm a _reporter_, damn it. It's my job. I'd do it again if Ithought you knew anything."

  She was pouting now. "Well, how do you suppose I feel, knowing you'reonly interested in me because of the Senator? Anyway, I'll probably losemy job, and then you won't have _any_ use for me."

  "Good-bye, Greta," Jerry said sadly.

  "What?"

  "Good-bye. I suppose you won't want to see me any more."

  "Did I say that?"

  "It just won't be any use. We'll always have this thing between us."

  She looked at him for a moment, and then touched his bruised cheek witha tender, motherly gesture.

  "Your poor face," she murmured, and then sighed. "Oh, well. I guessthere's no use fighting it. Maybe if I _did_ tell you what I know, wecould act _human_ again."

  "Greta!"

  "But if you print one _word_ of it, Jerry Bridges, I'll never speak toyou again!"

  "Honey," Jerry said, taking her arm, "you can trust me like a brother."

  "That's _not_ the idea," Greta said stiffly.

  In a secluded booth at the rear of a restaurant unfrequented by newsmen,Greta leaned forward and said:

  "At first, they thought it was another sputnik."

  "_Who_ did?"

  "The State Department, silly. They got reports from the observatoriesabout another sputnik being launched by the Russians. Only the Russiansdenied it. Then there were joint meetings, and nobody could figure out_what_ the damn thing was."

  "Wait a minute," Jerry said dizzily. "You mean to tell me there'sanother of those metal moons up there?"

  "But it's not a moon. That's the big point. It's a spaceship."

  "A _what_?"

  "A spaceship," Greta said coolly, sipping lemonade. "They have been incontact with it now for about three days, and they're thinking ofcalling a plenary session of the UN just to figure out what to do aboutit. The only hitch is, Russia doesn't want to wait that long, and isasking for a hurry-up summit meeting to make a decision."

  "A decision about what?"

  "About the Venusians, of course."

  "Greta," Jerry said mildly, "I think you're still a little woozy fromlast night."

  "Don't be silly. The spaceship's from Venus; they've already establishedthat. And the people on it--I _guess_ they're people--want to know ifthey can land their delegate."

  "Their what?"

  "Their delegate. They came here for some kind of conference, I guess.They know about the UN and everything, and they want to take part. Theysay that with all the satellites being launched, that our affairs are_their_ affairs, too. It's kind of confusing, but that's what they say."

  "You mean these Venusians speak English?"

  "And Russian. And French. And German. And everything I guess. They'vebeen having radio talks with practically every country for the pastthree days. Like I say, they want to establish diplomatic relations orsomething. The Senator thinks t
hat if we don't agree, they might dosomething drastic, like blow us all up. It's kind of scary." Sheshivered delicately.

  "You're taking it mighty calm," he said ironically.

  "Well, how else can I take it? I'm not even supposed to _know_ about it,except that the Senator is so careless about--" She put her fingers toher lips. "Oh, dear, now you'll really think I'm terrible."

  "Terrible? I think you're wonderful!"

  "And you promise