"I haven't seen that rocket," the senator had continued. "All I've seen is five billion of your tax dollars flying into the vacuum of space. They tell me a man named Mark Kramer is going to fly out in that rocket and circle the moon.
"But he will fail," McKelvie had promised. "If God had intended man to fly to the moon, he would have given us wings to do it. Tomorrow I shall fly out to this space station, even at the risk of my life. I'll report the waste and corruption out there, and I'll report the failure of the moon rocket."
Jones crumpled the paper and aimed at the waste basket.
"Pardon me while I vomit," he said.
"We've been there," Kevin sighed deeply. "I suppose Max Gordon will be happy."
"He'll wear a hole in his tongue on McKelvie's boots," Bert said bitterly.
"Is it that bad?"
"How else would he get a first class spaceman's badge?" Morrow said. "He can't add two and two. But if stool pigeons had wings, he'd fly like a jet. We can't move up here without McKelvie knowing and howling about it.
"Don't worry," Jones said, "If the moon rocket makes it, public opinion will take care of the senator."
"If he doesn't take care of us first," Kevin said darkly. "He'll be aboard in 15 minutes."