Dodgers
are in last place, and they've got five pitchers who could have done it
without warming up."

"Watch your mouth, Criswell," advised Admiral Flack, tightlipped.
"There's considerable tonnage of Air Force hardware under water, too.
Maybe the Russians beat us, and maybe von Braun got lucky, but _ours_ is
_still there_, Mac! Just remember that!"

"You people have fetishes," stormed the General. "You even keep
Admirals' hats and hang them on pegs. Who wants your hat, you pack rat?
Where would we ever keep all the junk you people want to save?" He
shuddered. "Good God! Hats!"

"That's ... just ... about ... all ... I'm ... going ... to ... take,"
Admiral Flack said, spelling out the entire sentence. He stared
furiously at the General. "Don't think we don't know that once '58 Beta
is down it'll be your precious damned '61 Epsilon that's in the oldest
orbit. I'll bet you fly boys will break your silly backs trying to
recover that one when its time comes."

Jordan pounded his desk. "Gentlemen, shut up!"

* * * * *

Appalled by this exhibition of low level civilian effrontery, they both
did so without really meaning to.

"Gentlemen," Jordan announced firmly in the almost uncanny silence, "the
entire problem is solved as of now. '58 Beta constitutes a demonstrable
menace to navigation. Under the authority vested in this office I will
issue instructions to have it picked up by a salvage ship tomorrow. Once
it's brought down you may claim it if you like and do with it what you
please."

Admiral Flack shot a look of pure triumph at General Criswell. The
General, however, was not paying attention. He was looking, almost with
an expression of pity, at Amos Jordan.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Jordan," he said slowly, "that you don't fully realize
the implications of such an act at this time. It may be within your
jurisdiction to salvage and all that, but I believe that the decision
_whether_ to salvage now rests with the legislature. I would hesitate to
act without securing high ... _very high_ concurrence in this matter."

Flack erupted.

"Criswell, you're an idiot! A chicken hearted idiot! On top of that you
haven't any business telling Jordan ... ah, _Mr._ Jordan what he can and
can't do."

Criswell glared icily at Flack.

"A mere suggestion," he gritted and stalked out.

Admiral Flack paused and bestowed a warm smile upon Amos Jordan before
hurrying out the door after the General. As t