used as fuel in the first launch. They say they can't proceed till they
have it."

He tossed the letter aside and picked up another. "Here's a purchase
request for four hundred yards of sailcloth. Now what the hell do you
suppose they want sailcloth for?"

"Maybe it's for another project," said Jordan, cramming half a doughnut
into his mouth. "I found one yesterday for hypodermic needles. On top of
that it wasn't signed."

"That figures," said Clements tossing the letter aside and picking up
another. "Now, how's this ... good grief! The Ancient Order of
Hibernians, if you please, formally requests that ... since '58 Beta was
launched on St. Patrick's day ... to do otherwise with this launch would
be unthinkable, sacrilegious, treasonable, etc, etc."

Jordan froze in his chair.

"That's the one!" His voice sounded faintly strangled. "That's the one
that'll kill us, right there! I have a feeling for these things. How
long till St. Patrick's day?"

Clements looked at his desk calendar. "Three weeks."

Jordan's eyes rolled upward. "We're dead!" he said, buzzing for Gerry.
"Dead as mackeral."

Gerry answered, and Jordan asked for General Criswell.

* * * * *

A fine seabreeze was whipping ashore at Canaveral Space Port; not strong
enough to be a nuisance, but strong enough to blow Senator Darius'
emerald green tie persistently around behind his neck. He was still
puffing a little from his climb up the steps to the balcony on top of
the Space Control Center. As soon as he caught his breath he tugged at
Jordan's elbow and said, "Mr. Jordan, I have the great honor to
introduce to you Mr. Patrick McGuire, president of the Ancient Order of
Hibernians."

Jordan shook hands, noticing as he did so that Mr. McGuire was carrying
something that closely resembled a hip flask. It had a bright green silk
ribbon tied around the neck.

"It's a pleasure," he said. "What's in the bottle?"

Mr. McGuire laughed a rich bellow.

"That, me friend," he said in a brogue so carefully cultivated that
Jordan winced almost visibly, "is a bottle o' wather from the River
Shannon, fer the christening', b'dad 'n' bejabers."

"The christening?" Jordan echoed hollowly.

"Indade, the christenin' ... with the Senator's kind permission I'll now
step down and officiate. One piddlin' smash at the nose of yonder rocket
is all I ask. One smash and a Hail Mary, and she's off to Glory!"

"Jordan ..." began the Sen