"I'll check it." Mister Cerobie turned to one of his assistants. Swenson took down the Luna Data Handbook and thumbed through it.
A moment later, the assistant handed a slip of paper to the Board Chairman.
"The Senator," Mister Cerobie said, "will speak from 1300 hours to 1500 hours."
Swenson smiled and stuck a marker in the Luna Data Handbook.
"Now," he said, "about this snuff. Can you have it loaded by tomorrow night?"
"I don't see how."
"Remember our agreement in the office. If we don't do something, we're through, so all we can do is lose. Leave me be and don't ask questions. I want to blast Number 2 into low Earth-orbital tomorrow night."
Mister Cerobie looked off into that nowhere which was the daily destiny of Acme. "All right," he said, "I was born a damn fool. I'll do my best to have a full load of snuff aboard—somehow—tomorrow night."
Swenson went back to his Dispatch Sheet. During the next five hours, he looked up only long enough to order another case of beer and a new astrographer.