A bar on Eighth Avenue had a new banner up over its door. "Welcome
Monolithans," it said. My copy-reader's eye noted the misspelling.
Nobody inside looked fancy enough to be one of the alien Dans.
The teletypes were clattering away at World Wide. The summer doldrums
were sure over.
"'Morning, Sam," the copy boy said. "How about some coffee?"
"'Morning, Herb," I said. "That's the first intelligent remark I've
heard in some time."
"Heavy on the milk?"
"That's right--Earth-style."
Charlie Price was pecking away at the typewriter.
"'Morning, Charlie. What's doing?"
"Somebody called up from an outfit called the Society for the
Prevention of Alien Domination of Earth. Ever hear of it?"
"No, but the initials spell 'spade.' Are you sure it wasn't some bright
P.R.O. for a playing-card company?"
"Never thought of that, but it could be. There's something in it about
digging in and holding the line. I'll finish it and leave it for you."
"Good." Herb brought my coffee and I sat down to read the file.
"John Hyatt's in already," Charlie said.
"Already? He was on the desk yesterday, too. He must be alien-happy."
"How'd you make out in Middle Valley? I saw you got a byline."
"Well, I didn't get a chance to put any expense money in the collection
plate," I said.
Charlie didn't answer that and I wondered if I'd offended him. I went
back to reading the file.
I had barely taken over from Charlie when John Hyatt came into the news
room. "Hi, Sam," he said. "I've been on the phone with Riddie. She was
about as informative as an AEC handout, but I gather something's up.
I'll take the desk again today. The Chicago crowd'll be in soon to help
here. I'd like you and Stew to shoot up to the Waldorf. I don't know
what's cooking but I suspect the aliens may be in a flap over their
shenanigans yesterday. Nice story, incidentally. It got splashed all
over Europe, according to the play report."
"Good. And thanks for the byline."
"You deserved it. Sometimes I wonder why we're wasting you on the desk."
"I like the regular hours," I said.
"Well, it looks as if regular hours are going to be out the window for
the duration."
"Where is Stew?"
"He'll be in at nine. You make a good team, you and Stew. I've noticed
that. I'd like you to keep as much of an eye on Riddie as on the
Monolithians, if you can. I suspect that little gal knows a lot more
about what's going on than she pretends. Get her off in a corner and
pump her, if you can."
"Shall I bring flowers?"
I meant it sarcastically, but John said, "She's not the bouquet type,
but Head Office has authorized extraordinary expenses for this story.
The sky's the limit. Make love to her, if you can stand it, but find
out what the hell is cooking."
Nancy Corelli had been all ears. "You never authorized him to make love
to me on the expense account," she told John. "We could have had some
high old times."
"I'm shocked, Nan," said John, who hadn't been shocked since he climbed
a high tension pole as a kid in ought-eight. "You're a married woman."
"Sam's married, too, don't forget," Nancy said. "And here you are
egging him on to go to bed with that old broad."
"Just a figure of speech, Mrs. Corelli. Suppose you let us old
trenchcoat boys cover the story and you concentrate on sending it to
London."
Nancy accepted the rebuke in her own fashion. "I'm glad I have an
honest job, at least," she said.
Stew Macon came in. "I see by the daily press there have been a number
of developments since I left the shop last Friday," he said to John and
me. "Good morning, Nancy."
"Don't talk to them, Stew," Nancy said. "They'll corrupt you, the old
lechers."
"Now what's this all about?" Stew asked.
"Tell you in the taxi," I said. "Don't take your coat off. We're on
detached service."
"Good enough. But I hope you have a big cash reserve, Sam. I happen to
have spent--and I use the term advisedly--a very expensive week end."
"Keep in touch," John said. "There are two of you, so let's have a
phone call every so often even if nothing's doing."