conical top of the first stage fell off and disappeared
into the inferno rather like an ice cream cone falling into the sun. The
film stopped at this point.

"That," said General Criswell matter-of-factly, "was the end of the
first launch attempt. You will note, gentlemen, that not only was the
vehicle structurally weak, but it also burned well, once ignited. These
two points, I dare say, will exercise considerable influence over our
handling of this project."

Jordan, sick to his stomach, got up again and left the conference, this
time for good.

* * * * *

Once begun the program proceeded feverishly. A corps of designers rooted
through every available shred of data: microfilm, old blueprints and
ancient engineering notes from files so old that no one knew why they
still existed. Films, recorded data, technical histories and newspaper
reports ... nothing was spared.

Slowly at first and then with almost magical speed, the ancient Vanguard
came to life. Her structure took shape. Her tankage and guidance were
reproduced. Like long atrophied nerves and muscles her controls and
electrical system once more hummed with power. Her engines were
duplicated and tested (though not without an explosion or two), and her
gyros were run in (by shuddering engineers who were accustomed to
hitting Marsport on the nose with a box half the size). And tiny Beta,
her wee antennas and Hoffman solar cells carefully fitted into place,
now had a twin sister enshrined in the Smithsonian Institution.

Jordan reflected that it was a solution bordering on genius even though
he was forced to admit that Senator Darius was its foremost architect.
His feeling for the old coyote was still something less than brotherly,
though forced association had revealed unsuspected and valuable
negotiative skills.

* * * * *

One morning several weeks later Jordan sat before his desk which was
piled high with unanswered correspondence. He drank lemonade and glared
across at Clements whose desk was piled even higher.

"I told you this was going to be your baby," Jordan said, "but I guess I
can't make it stick. There's too much of this stuff." He waved at the
stacks of paper. "Where does all this junk come from?"

Clements picked up a letter at random.

"This one," he said, "is from the Dupont Chemical Corp. They want us to
send them the quality control specification for the hydrazine that was