The Delegate from Venus Read online

not to print it?"

  "Didn't I say I wouldn't?"

  "Y-e-s. But you know, you're a liar sometimes, Jerry. I've noticed thatabout you."

  * * * * *

  The press secretary's secretary, a massive woman with gray hair andimpervious to charm, guarded the portals of his office with all theindomitable will of the U. S. Marines. But Jerry Bridges tried.

  "You don't understand, Lana," he said. "I don't want to _see_ Mr.Howells. I just want you to _give_ him something."

  "My name's not Lana, and I _can't_ deliver any messages."

  "But this is something he _wants_ to see." He handed her an envelope,stamped URGENT. "Do it for me, Hedy. And I'll buy you the flashiest pairof diamond earrings in Washington."

  "Well," the woman said, thawing slightly. "I _could_ deliver it with hisnext batch of mail."

  "When will that be?"

  "In an hour. He's in a terribly important meeting right now."

  "You've got some mail right there. Earrings and a bracelet to match."

  She looked at him with exasperation, and then gathered up a stack ofmemorandums and letters, his own envelope atop it. She came out of thepress secretary's office two minutes later with Howells himself, andHowells said: "You there, Bridges. Come in here."

  "Yes, _sir_!" Jerry said, breezing by the waiting reporters with a grinof triumph.

  There were six men in the room, three in military uniform. Howells pokedthe envelope towards Jerry, and snapped:

  "This note of yours. Just what do you think it means?"

  "You know better than I do, Mr. Howells. I'm just doing my job; I thinkthe public has a right to know about this spaceship that's flyingaround--"

  * * * * *

  His words brought an exclamation from the others. Howells sighed, andsaid:

  "Mr. Bridges, you don't make it easy for us. It's our opinion thatsecrecy is essential, that leakage of the story might cause panic. Sinceyou're the only unauthorized person who knows of it, we have twochoices. One of them is to lock you up."

  Jerry swallowed hard.

  "The other is perhaps more practical," Howells said. "You'll be takeninto our confidence, and allowed to accompany those officials who willbe admitted to the landing site. But you will _not_ be allowed to relaythe story to the press until such a time as _all_ correspondents areinformed. That won't give you a 'scoop' if that's what you call it, butyou'll be an eyewitness. That should be worth something."

  "It's worth a lot," Jerry said eagerly. "Thanks, Mr. Howells."

  "Don't thank me, I'm not doing you any _personal_ favor. Now about thelanding tonight--"

  "You mean the spaceship's coming down?"

  "Yes. A special foreign ministers conference was held this morning, anda decision was reached to accept the delegate. Landing instructions arebeing given at Los Alamos, and the ship will presumably land aroundmidnight tonight. There will be a jet leaving Washington Airport atnine, and you'll be on it. Meanwhile, consider yourself in custody."

  * * * * *

  The USAF jet transport wasn't the only secrecy-shrouded aircraft thattook off that evening from Washington Airport. But Jerry Bridges,sitting in the rear seat flanked by two Sphinx-like Secret Service men,knew that he was the only passenger with non-official status aboard.

  It was only a few minutes past ten when they arrived at the air base atLos Alamos. The desert sky was cloudy and starless, and powerfulsearchlights probed the thick cumulus. There were sleek, purring blackautos waiting to rush the air passengers to some unnamed destination.They drove for twenty minutes across a flat ribbon of desert road, untilJerry sighted what appeared to be a circle of newly-erected lights inthe middle of nowhere. On the perimeter, official vehicles were parkedin orderly rows, and four USAF trailer trucks were in evidence, theirradarscopes turning slowly. There was activity everywhere, but it waswell-ordered and unhurried. They had done a good job of keeping theexcitement contained.

  He was allowed to leave the car and stroll unescorted. He tried to talkto some of the scurrying officials, but to no avail. Finally, hecontented himself by sitting on the sand, his back against the grill ofa staff car, smoking one cigarette after another.

  As the minutes ticked off, the activity became more frenetic around him.Then the pace slowed, and he knew the appointed moment was approaching.Stillness returned to the desert, and tension was a tangible substancein the night air.

  The radarscopes spun slowly.

  The searchlights converged in an intricate pattern.

  Then the clouds seemed to part!

  "Here she comes!" a voice shouted. And in a moment, the calm wasshattered. At first, he saw nothing. A faint roar was started in theheavens, and it became a growl that increased in volume until even theshouting voices could no longer be heard. Then the crisscrossing lightsstruck metal, glancing off the gleaming body of a descending object.Larger and larger the object grew, until it assumed the definable shapeof a squat silver funnel, falling in a perfect straight line towards thecenter of the light-ringed area. When it hit, a dust cloud obscured itfrom sight.

  * * * * *

  A loudspeaker blared out an unintelligible order, but its message wasclear. No one moved from their position.

  Finally, a three-man team, asbestos-clad, lead-shielded, stepped outfrom the ring of spectators. They carried geiger counters on long polesbefore them.

  Jerry held his breath as they approached the object; only when theywere yards away did he appreciate its size. It wasn't large; not morethan fifteen feet in total circumference.

  One of the three men waved a gloved hand.

  "It's okay," a voice breathed behind him. "No radiation ..."

  Slowly, the ring of spectators closed tighter. They were twenty yardsfrom the ship when the voice spoke to them.

  "Greetings from Venus," it said, and then repeated the phrase in sixlanguages. "The ship you see is a Venusian Class 7 interplanetaryrocket, built for one-passenger. It is clear of all radiation, and isperfectly safe to approach. There is a hatch which may be opened by anautomatic lever in the side. Please open this hatch and remove thepassenger."

  An Air Force General whom Jerry couldn't identify stepped forward. Hecircled the ship warily, and then said something to the others. Theycame closer, and he touched a small lever on the silvery surface of thefunnel.

  A door slid open.

  "It's a box!" someone said.

  "A crate--"

  "Colligan! Moore! Schaffer! Lend a hand here--"

  A trio came forward and hoisted the crate out of the ship. Then thevoice spoke again; Jerry deduced that it must have been activated by thedecreased load of the ship.

  "Please open the crate. You will find our delegate within. We trust youwill treat him with the courtesy of an official emissary."

  They set to work on the crate, its gray plastic material giving inreadily to the application of their tools. But when it was opened, theystood aside in amazement and consternation.

  There were a variety of metal pieces packed within, protected by a filmypacking material.

  "Wait a minute," the general said. "Here's a book--"

  He picked up a gray-bound volume, and opened its cover.

  "'Instructions for assembling Delegate,'" he read aloud. "'First, removeall parts and arrange them in the following order. A-1, central nervoussystem housing. A-2 ...'" He looked up. "It's an instruction book," hewhispered. "We're supposed to _build_ the damn thing."

  * * * * *

  The Delegate, a handsomely constructed robot almost eight feet tall, waspieced together some three hours later, by a team of scientists andengineers who seemed to find the Venusian instructions as elementary asa blueprint in an Erector set. But simple as the job was, they wereobviously impressed by the mechanism they had assembled. It stoodimpassive until they obeyed the final instruction. "Press Button K ..."

  They found bu
tton K, and pressed it.

  The robot bowed.

  "Thank you, gentlemen," it said, in sweet, unmetallic accents. "Now ifyou will please escort me to the meeting place ..."

  * * * * *

  It wasn't until three days after the landing that Jerry Bridges saw theDelegate again. Along with a dozen assorted government officials, Armyofficers, and scientists, he was quartered in a quonset hut in Fort Dix,New Jersey. Then, after seventy-two frustrating hours, he was escortedby Marine guard into New York City. No one told him his destination, andit wasn't until he saw the bright strips of light across the face of theUnited Nations