My half-hour with the JCS was a day away when I came down with acute cold feet up to the knees. I went to see Frances for encouragement and to scrounge a cigar. "Let's not kid ourselves," I told her. "Those brass hats are clever. Why don't we just turn over the facts to them, let their Intelligence take over? I'd like to stay with the _KEZ_ research, but I'd also like more and tighter facts. What are the throats of the rockets made of? What fuel are they using, for sure? If they've decided on ozone, how do they keep it from exploding every time a commissar sneezes? Frances, let's just hand my scrapbooks to the Air Force and let it fill in the blank pages. I hate to present this comic book continuity I've got as a serious extrapolation from known facts." "Sit down, Franklin," she said, handing me the cigar I'd come for. "You're a babe in the woods so far as Intelligence is concerned--that's with a capital 'I', Frank." "Thank you, teacher." "I want the military to take this Ziolkovsky thing and shake it till it falls into shape. But they won't, Frank. Not unless we persuade them that it's important. That's what you're doing, window-dressing to make the big brass buy this and stamp it high-priority. If they had what we've worked from, it would get a 'D' rating. They'd set to work on it once the definitive study of Kirghiz folk-dancing was done. They'd give it to a second Lieutenant to play with Wednesday afternoons and forget it." "But you think your opinion that the Russians have a spaceship squatting somewhere in the Altais is justification for your twisting a haggle of admirals around your pretty finger?" "I have a feeling for Intelligence work," she said. "This is hot, Frank. Get back to your desk and plan a drawing of the _KEZ_. Better yet, sketch a model of the beast. We'll have one built for you to stand on the table as you talk tomorrow. It will give you confidence." "Now I'm a confidence man." "In good cause, Frank. Tomorrow, after you've made your presentation to the JCS, we'll have dinner together to celebrate. At my place." At this last prospect, I went back to work with spirits refreshed as no five-cent drink can refresh them. * * * * * I was a minor event on the schedule of JCS interviews. Half an hour, from twelve till twelve-thirty, they'd given me. I hoped I'd spoil their appetites for lunch. My model of the _Konstantin Edouardovitch Ziolkovsky_, its lacquer still a little tacky, bulged my briefcase. I had to persuade a Marine lieutenant that it wasn't a bomb I was carrying before he'd let me into the conference room.