The saucer was interesting, but where was the delegate?The
DELEGATE
FROM
VENUS
By HENRY SLESAR
ILLUSTRATOR NOVICK
Everybody was waiting to seewhat the delegate from Venuslooked like. And all they gotfor their patience was thebiggest surprise since Davidclobbered Goliath.
"Let me put it this way,"Conners said paternally."We expect a certain amount ofdecorum from our Washingtonnews correspondents, and that'sall I'm asking for."
Jerry Bridges, sitting in thechair opposite his employer'sdesk, chewed on his knucklesand said nothing. One part ofhis mind wanted him to play itcagey, to behave the way thenewspaper wanted him to behave,to protect the cozy Washingtonassignment he had waitedfour years to get. But anotherpart of him, a rebel part,wanted him to stay on the trailof the story he felt sure wasabout to break.
"I didn't mean to make trouble,Mr. Conners," he said casually."It just seemed strange, allthese exchanges of couriers inthe past two days. I couldn'thelp thinking something wasup."
"Even if that's true, we'llhear about it through the usualchannels," Conners frowned."But getting a senator's secretarydrunk to obtain information—well,that's not only indiscreet,Bridges. It's downrightdirty."
Jerry grinned. "I didn't takethat kind of advantage, Mr.Conners. Not that she wasn't atoothsome little dish ..."
"Just thank your lucky starsthat it didn't go any further.And from now on—" He waggleda finger at him. "Watchyour step."
Jerry got up and ambled to thedoor. But he turned before leavingand said:
"By the way. What do youthink 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 doorbehind him, and then strolledout of the building into the sunlight.
He met Ruskin, the fat littleAP correspondent, in front ofthe Pan-American Building onConstitution Avenue. Ruskinwas holding the newspaper thatcontained the gossip-columnitem which had started thewhole affair, and he seemedmore interested in the romanticrather than political implications.As he walked beside him,he said:
"So what really happened,pal? That Greta babe really letdown her hair?"
"Where's your decorum?"Jerry growled.
Ruskin giggled. "Boy, she'squite a dame, all right. I thinkthey ought to get the SecretService to guard her. She reallyfills out a size 10, don't she?"
"Ruskin," Jerry said, "youhave a low mind. For a week,this town has been acting likethe 39 Steps, and all you canthink about is dames. What'sthe matter with you? Wherewill you be when the big mushroomcloud comes?"
"With Greta, I hope," Ruskinsighed. "What a way to getradioactive."
They split off a few blockslater, and Jerry walked until hecame to the Red Tape Bar &Grill, a favorite hangout of thelocal journalists. There werethree other newsmen at the bar,and they gave him snickeringgreetings. He took a small tablein the rear and ate his meal insullen silence.
It wasn't the newsmen's jibesthat bothered him; it was thecertainty that something ofmajor importance was happeningin the capitol. There hadbeen hourly conferences at theWhite House, flying visits byState Department officials, mysteriousconferences involvingmembers of the Science Commission.So far, the bywordhad been secrecy. They knewthat Senator Spocker, chairmanof the Congress