, pure and simple. That's your answer!"

Jordan's eyes slowly brightened.

"Clem, maybe you're right. Regulation 710.1 says that any orbital debris
constituting a demonstrable menace to navigation may be destroyed at the
discretion of this office." He brushed his hands together with finality.
"That should do it."

Suddenly Clements' enthusiasm degenerated to a faint smile.

"I've just got to wondering, chief. Do we dare go right ahead with
this?"

Amos Jordan's eyes took on a piercing glitter of command.

"This is our job, Clements. We should have done it long ago. Get
Statistical and have them find out how much boogie time is consumed in
plugging that silly thing into every takeoff problem. Multiply that by
all the launch stations. Convert it into man-hours per year and make
that into a dollar figure. That always scares the wits out a
Congressman. They'll knuckle under...."

He paused and cocked an ear toward the door. A faint hubbub was now
percolating through from the receptionist's lobby. It grew louder.
Suddenly the door opened, letting in a roaring babble, as Geraldine ...
the usually poker-faced secretary ... leaped through and slammed it shut
again. Her eyes, behind their thick lenses, were round and a little
wild.

"It's General Criswell and Admiral Flack," she panted. "They insist on
seeing you." She gasped for breath and added, as though she could not
quite believe her own words, "And ... and ... oh, Mr. Jordan; they're
_quarreling_!"

Jordan said, "Quarreling? Two staff men quarreling?" He looked
uncertainly at Clements. "I thought there was a regulation against
that?"

Clements gave a palms up shrug.

"Well, there is," snapped Jordan. "Has something to do with interservice
unity or something ... been on the books for years. Send them in,
Gerry."

Tentatively she opened the door and almost had time to gesture before
being bowled over by the visitors.

* * * * *

Admiral Flack had the advantage of volume, and Jordan got his message
first.

"Jordan," he roared in true bullhorn style, "I want to make one thing
clear! '58 Beta was Navy through and through! Start to finish! She's got
salt water on her, and she's going to be pulled out of orbit and that's
that!"

"Navy through and through, hell!" sneered General Criswell. "A fine
botch you made of it, too! How many times did you try before you slung
that thing up there? How many goofs were there afterward? The