were parked in orderly rows, and four USAF trailer trucks were in evidence, their radarscopes turning slowly. There was activity everywhere, but it was well-ordered and unhurried. They had done a good job of keeping the excitement contained.

He was allowed to leave the car and stroll unescorted. He tried to talk to some of the scurrying officials, but to no avail. Finally, he contented himself by sitting on the sand, his back against the grill of a 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 substance in 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 was shattered. At first, he saw nothing. A faint roar was started in the heavens, and it became a growl that increased in volume until even the shouting voices could no longer be heard. Then the crisscrossing lights struck metal, glancing off the gleaming body of a descending object. Larger and larger the object grew, until it assumed the definable shape of a squat silver funnel, falling in a perfect straight line towards the center of the light-ringed area. When it hit, a dust cloud obscured it from sight.

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

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

Jerry held his breath as they approached the object; only when they were yards away did he appreciate its size. It wasn't large; not more than 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 yards from the ship when the voice spoke to them.

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

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

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 the voice spoke again; Jerry deduced that it must have been activated by the decreased load of the ship.

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

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

There were a variety of metal pieces packed within, protected by a filmy packing 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, remove all parts and arrange them in the following order. A-1, central nervous system housing. A-2 ...'" He looked up. "It's an instruction book," he whispered. "We're supposed to build the damn thing."

The Delegate, a handsomely constructed robot almost eight feet tall, was pieced together some three hours later, by a team of scientists and engineers who seemed to find the