There were rules for everything, weren't there.... Jordan poured himself a glass of lemonade. It's just a standard procedural problem." "Well, not exactly," began Clements soothingly. People are proud if it. "But, Clem, the sky's full of the things," he complained. "I agree, chief. "I'd like to know why not," he snapped, almost bristling. "Well, frankly this thing is moving pretty fast." Jordan stared at the sheet. "It sure did ... and is," said Clements. Jordan shook his head. I ought to fire you ... "Better not, chief. _Mr. Jordan:_ Yes, sir, there is. _Mr. J:_ I'd be glad to, Senator. _Mr. _Mr. J:_ I ... uh ... I believe I appreciate your point of view,
Senator. _Mr. Quite enough, Mr. Jordan. _Mr. J:_ Nothing, Senator. _Mr. J:_ (squirming) Senator, there are dozens of those things up there. They have no usefulness. _Mr. J:_ April 11, 2138. _Mr. There will be no more of it. "It's unbelievable," he muttered dully. Jordan shook his head. "There has to be a way out. A clean, quick way out." Jordan nodded dully. "Someplace. Number 710.1, I think. "No." "But, good grief, this thing isn't
debris. "This is
debris, pure and simple. "Clem, maybe you're right. "That should do it." "This is our job, Clements. It grew louder. "They insist on
seeing you." Jordan said, "Quarreling? "Well, there is," snapped Jordan. Send them in,
Gerry." "Navy through and through, hell!" "You people have fetishes," stormed the General. He
shuddered. Jordan pounded his desk. He was looking, almost with
an expression of pity, at Amos Jordan. Flack erupted. Criswell glared icily at Flack. "A mere suggestion," he gritted and stalked out. "We've got trouble, chief," he began. Jordan stared incredulously. "Not perturbed, chief. Gone. It's just not there any more. It would be a waste of time." "Of course. As it turned out it
was the courier after all. Of course,
this is different ... altogether different. But at the same time, sir, a
most interesting parallel. You are excused, Admiral. Beta's out of orbit, and
we no longer have a problem. "You will be sorry you said that," he said peevishly. He rang for Gerry. "Of course," echoed Jordan. The door opened, and the huge glasses of Gerry peered in. "Yes, chief?" Gerry nodded. "No sweat, boss," she said and backed out. It'll be your
bad luck, not mine." he repeated slowly. The General rambled on. "Horrible," he said. "Horrible, horrible." No, it kept right on
going through the stand. Her structure took shape. There's too much of this stuff." He waved at the
stacks of paper. "Now, how's this ... good grief! I have a feeling for these things. "Three weeks." he said, buzzing for Gerry. Gerry answered, and Jordan asked for General Criswell. Jordan shook hands, noticing as he did so that Mr. McGuire was carrying
something that closely resembled a hip flask. "It's a pleasure," he said. Jordan echoed hollowly. "Jordan ..." began the Senator. "Now, Senator ..." began Jordan. growled Jordan peevishly. repeated Jordan jumpily. It will delay the launch." He
snubbed out his cigarette. Suddenly he started violently. "Relax, chief," he said reassuringly. "But it will. I feel it in my bones. "Stop worrying, chief. You wait and see." Jordan shook his head in disbelief. he said faintly. Jordan hiccupped. he said, a little belligerently. Besides, I like it here." Well,
gentlemen, we can't win 'em all. As you know, we had hoped for a
permanent orbit. I am heartily sorry,
gentlemen." Finally he finished. "Certainly I remember, old chiefie. "Well, good for you, old appointee. O.K.?"