oward an apparently solid wall that
suddenly slid back as he passed a light beam and entered the spacious
office of E. Philips James, Venusian Delegate to the Grand Council of
the Solar Alliance.

E. Philips James was a small man, with small hands that were moving
nervously all the time. His head was a little too large for his narrow
body that was clothed in the latest fashion, and his tiny black mustache
was carefully trimmed. As Connel stalked into the room, James bounced
out of his chair to meet him, smiling warmly.

"Major Connel! How delightful to see you again," he said, extending a
perfumed hand.

"You could have seen me a lot sooner," growled Connel. "I've been
sitting outside for over three hours!"

James lifted one eyebrow and sat down without making any comment. A true
diplomat, E. Philips James never said anything unless it was absolutely
necessary. And when he spoke, he never really said very much. He sat
back and waited patiently for Connel to cool off and get to the point of
his call.

In typical fashion, Connel jumped to it without any idle conversational
prologue. "I'm here on a security assignment. I need confidential
information."

"Just one moment, Major," said James. He flipped open his desk intercom
and called to his secretary outside. "Record this conversation, please."

"Record!" roared Connel. "I just told you this was secret!"

"It will be secret, Major," assured James softly. "The record will go
into the confidential files of the Alliance for future reference. A
precaution, Major. Standard procedure. Please go on."

Connel hesitated, and then, shrugging his shoulders, continued, "I want
to know everything you know about an organization here on Venus known as
the Venusian Nationalists."

James's expression changed slightly. "Specific information, Major? Or
just random bits of gossip?"

"No rocket wash, Mr. James. Information. Everything you know!"

"I don't know why you've come to me," replied James, visibly annoyed at
the directness of the rough spaceman. "I know really very little."

"I'm working under direct orders of Commander Walters," said Connel
grimly, "who is also a delegate to the Solar Council. His position as
head of the Solar Guard is equal to yours in every respect. This request
comes from his office, not out of my personal curiosity."

"Ah, yes, of course, Major," replied James. "Of course."

The delegate rose and walked over to the window, seemingly trying to